He stopped speaking, and for a time his field-glasses were fastened upon a small section of Indian village nestled in the green valley. Its full extent was concealed by the hills, yet from what the watchers saw they realized that this would prove no small encampment. "I doubt if many warriors are there," he commented, at last. "They may have gone up the river to intercept Reno's advance, and if so, this should be our time to strike. But we are not far enough around, and this ground is too rough for cavalry. There looks to be considerable level land out yonder, and that _coulee_ ought to lead us into it without peril of observation from below. Return to your commands, gentlemen, and with the order of march see personally that your men move quietly. We must strike quick and hard, driving the wedge home with a single blow." His inquiring gaze swept thoughtfully over the expectant faces of his troop commanders. "That will be all at present, gentlemen; you will require no further instructions until we deploy. Captain Calhoun, just a word, please." The officer thus directly addressed, a handsome, stalwart man of middle age, reined in his mettlesome horse and waited. "Captain, the messenger who has just brought us despatches from Cheyenne is a civilian, but has requested permission to have a share in this coming fight. I have assigned him to your troop." Calhoun bowed. "I thought it best to spare you any possible embarrassment by saying that the man is not entirely unknown to you." "May I ask his name?" "Robert Nolan." The strong, lion-like face flushed under its tan, then quickly lit up with a smile. "I thank you. Captain Nolan will not suffer at my hands." He rode straight toward his troop, his eyes searching the ranks until they rested upon the averted face of Hampton. He pressed forward, and leaned from the saddle, extending a gauntleted hand. "Nolan, old man, welcome back to the Seventh!" For an instant their eyes met, those of the officer filled with manly sympathy, the other's moistened and dim, his face like marble. Then the two hands clasped and clung, in a grip more eloquent than words. The lips of the disgraced soldier quivered, and he uttered not a word. It was Calhoun who spoke. "I mean it all, Nolan. From that day to this I have believed in you,--have held you friend." For a moment the man reeled; then, as though inspired by a new-born hope, he sat firmly erect, and lifted his hand in salute. "Those are words I have longed to hear spoken for fifteen years. They are more to me than life. May God help me to be worthy of them. Oh, Calhoun, Calhoun!" For a brief space the two remained still and silent, their faces reflecting repressed feeling. Then the voice of command sounded out in front; Calhoun gently withdrew his hand from the other's grasp, and with bowed head rode slowly to the front of his troop.