saddle into the snow utterly exhausted. Staggering himself like a
drunken man, the Sergeant dragged the nerveless body into a crevice of
the bluff out of the wild sweep of the wind, trampled aside the snow
into a wall of shelter, built a hasty fire, and poured hot coffee
between the shivering lips. With the earliest gray of another dawn,
the white man caught the strongest pony, and rode on alone. He never
knew the story of those hours--only that his trail led straight into
the north. He rode erect at first, then leaning forward clinging to
the mane; now and then he staggered along on foot dragging his pony by
the rein. Once he stopped to eat, breaking the ice in a creek for
water. It began to snow, the thick fall of flakes blotting out the
horizon, leaving him to stumble blindly through the murk. Then
darkness came, wrapping him in a cloak of silence in the midst of that
unspeakable desert. His limbs stiffened, his brain reeled from intense
fatigue. He dragged himself back into the saddle, pressing the pony
into a slow trot. Suddenly out of the wall of gloom sprang the yellow
lights of Camp Supply. Beneath these winking eyes of guidance there
burst the red glare of a fire. Even as he saw it the pony fell, but
the exhausted man had forgotten now everything but duty. The knowledge
that he had won the long struggle brought him new strength. He
wrenched his feet free from the stirrups, and ran forward, calling to
the guard. They met him, and he stood straight before them, every
nerve taut--a soldier.

"I bring despatches from Custer," he said slowly, holding himself firm.
"Take me to General Sheridan."

The corporal walked beside him, down the trampled road, questioning
eagerly as they passed the line of shacks toward the double log house
where the commander was quartered. Hamlin heard, and answered briefly,