R CLOSES
XVI THE RESCUE OF MISS SPENCER
XVII THE PARTING HOUR

PART III

ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN

I MR. HAMPTON RESOLVES
II THE TRAIL OF SILENT MURPHY
III THE HAUNTING OF A CRIME
IV THE VERGE OF CONFESSION
V ALONE WITH THE INSANE
VI ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN
VII THE FIGHT IN THE VALLEY
VIII THE OLD REGIMENT
IX THE LAST STAND
X THE CURTAIN FALLS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"I Read It in your Face," He Insisted. "It Told of Love" . . . . . .
_Frontispiece_

They Advanced Slowly, the Supported Blankets Swaying Gently to the
Measured Tread

"Mr. Slavin Appears to have Lost his Previous Sense of Humor," He
Remarked, Calmly

Together They Bore Him, now Unconscious, Slowly down below the First
Fire-Line

BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER

_PART I_

FROM OUT THE CANYON

CHAPTER I

HAMPTON, OF PLACER

It was not an uncommon tragedy of the West. If slightest chronicle of
it survive, it must be discovered among the musty and nearly forgotten
records of the Eighteenth Regiment of Infantry, yet it is extremely
probable that even there the details were never written down.
Sufficient if, following certain names on that long regimental roll,
there should be duly entered those cabalistic symbols signifying to the
initiated, "Killed in action." After all, that tells the story. In
those old-time Indian days of continuous foray and skirmish such brief
returns, concise and unheroic, were commonplace enough.

Yet the tale is worth telling now, when such days are past and gone.
There were sixteen of them when, like so many hunted rabbits, they were
first securely trapped among the frowning rocks, and forced
relentlessly backward from off the narrow trail until the precipitous
canyon walls finally halted their disorganized flight, and from sheer
necessity compelled a rally in hopeless battle. Sixteen,--ten
infantrymen from old Fort Bethune, under command of Syd. Wyman, a
gray-headed sergeant of thirty years' continuous service in the
regulars, two cow-punchers from the "X L" ranch, a stranger who had
joined them uninvited at the ford over the Bear Water, together with
old Gillis the post-trader, and his silent chit of a girl.

Sixteen--but that was three days before, and in the meanwhile not a few
of those speeding Sioux bullets had found softer billet than the
limestone rocks. Six of the soldiers, four already dead, two dying,
lay outstretched in ghastly silence