"I climbed down and round and up and got back as soon as I come too," he said, with that happy-go-lucky smile of his. "Bedad! but you've been makin' some history, I see. Git up, you miserable cur, and we'll march ye down to General Custer. You take entirely too many liberties wid a Springvale boy what's knowed you too darned long already." We lifted Jean, and keeping him before us we hurried him into the presence of the fair-haired commander to whom we told our story, failing not to report on the incident witnessed by O'mie on the river bank two nights before, when Jean sent his murdered father's body into the waters below him. "And so that French renegade is dead, is he," Custer mused, never lifting his eyes from the ground. He had heard us through without query or comment, until now. "I knew him well. First as a Missionary priest to the Osages. He was a fine man then, but the Plains made a devil of him; and he deserved what he got, no doubt. "Now, as to this half-breed, why the devil didn't you kill him when you had the chance? Dead Indians tell no tales; but the holy Church and the United States Government listen to what the live ones tell. You could have saved me any amount of trouble, you infernal fool." I stood up before the General. There was as great a contrast in our appearance as in our rank. The slight, dapper little commander in full official dress and perfect military bearing looked sternly up at the huge, rough private with his torn, bloody clothing and lacerated hands. Custer's yellow locks had just been neatly brushed. My own dark hair, uncut for months, hung in a curly mass thrown back from my scarred face. I gave him a courteous, military salute. Then standing up to my full height, and looking steadily down at the slender, graceful man before me, I said: "I may be a fool, General, but I am a soldier, not a murderer." Custer made no reply for a time. He sat down and, turning toward Jean Pahusca, he studied the young half-breed carefully. Then he said briefly, "You may go now." We saluted and passed from his tent. Outside we had gone only a few steps, when the General overtook us. "Baronet," he said, "you did right. You are a soldier, the kind that will yet save the Plains." He turned and entered his tent again. "Golly!" O'mie whistled softly. "It's me that thinks Jean Pahusca, son av whoever his father may be, 's got to the last and worst piece av his journey. I'm glad you didn't kill him, Phil. You're claner 'n ever in my eyes." We strolled away together in the soft evening shadows, silent for a time. "Tell me, O'mie," I said at last, "how you happened to find me up there two hours ago?" "I was trailin' you to your hidin'-place. Bud, Heaven bless him, told me where your little sanctuary was, the night before he--went away." There were tears in O'mie's voice, but soldiers do not weep. "I had hard work to find the path. But it was better so maybe."