Squaw Charley moved slowly along with him. No one was in sight in the enclosure--no one seemed even to be looking on. But, opposite Brown Mink's lodge, the old woman dashed out, seized the hide with a scream of rage and dashed back again. The next moment, Charley passed through the sliding-panel and took up his march to headquarters. "So this is your last wild pet, eh, Robert?" said Colonel Cummings, as they entered. He backed up to his stove and surveyed Squaw Charley good-naturedly. "Let me see, now: You've run the scale from a devil's darning-needle to a baby wolf. Next thing, I suppose, you'll be introducing us to a youngish rattlesnake." Lieutenant Fraser rumpled his hair sheepishly. "But you ought to see the way they're treating him--banging him around as if he were a dog." "Hm. He certainly doesn't look strong." "They work him to death, Colonel." The commanding officer laughed. "A redskin, working, must be a sight for sore eyes!" "But they don't feed him, sir." The outcast, wrapped close in his blanket, lifted his pinched face to them. "How'd it happen I didn't notice this fellow during the march?" inquired the colonel, a trifle suspiciously. "He was with the squaws when there was anything to do; but when we were on the move, he fell to the rear." "Didn't try to get away?" "No; just straggled along." "Ah. Do you know whether or not he took part in the fight the day we captured them?" At the question, a swift change came over Squaw Charley. He retreated a little, and bent his head until his chin rested upon his breast. Lieutenant Fraser threw out his arm in mute reply. No feathers, no paint, no gaudy shirt or bonnet marked the Indian as a warrior. The elder man approached the silent, shrinking figure not unkindly. "And what do you want me to do for him, Robert?" he asked. Lieutenant Fraser sprang forward eagerly, his face shining. "He's so quiet and willing, sir--so ready to do anything he's told. I'd be grateful if you thought you could trust him outside the stockade. He could get the odds and ends from the bachelor's mess." "I'll be hanged! Robert," cried his superior, annoyed. "Most men, just out of West Point, have an eye to killing redskins, not coddling 'em." The other crimsoned. "I'm sorry you look at it that way, Colonel," he said. "I'm ready to punish or kill in the case of bad ones. But--you'll pardon my saying it--I don't see that it's the duty of an officer to harm a good one." Squaw Charley raised his head, and shifted timidly from foot to foot. "Well, Robert," replied Colonel Cummings, quietly, "you still have the Eastern view of the Indian question. However, let me ask you this: Has this man a story, and what is it? For all you know, he may deserve being 'banged around.'" Lieutenant Fraser was shaking his head in answer, when swift came one from the pariah. He searched in his bosom, under the tattered waist, drew out the rag-wound paper and handed it to the commanding officer.