At a brisk trot they rode out, the trooper lagging a pace to the rear, the watchful eyes of both men sweeping suspiciously across the prairie.  The two parties met suddenly upon the summit of a sharp ridge, and Brant drew in his horse with an exclamation of astonishment.  It was a pathetic spectacle he stared at,—­a horse scarcely able to stagger forward, his flanks quivering from exhaustion, his head hanging limply down; on his back, with feet strapped securely beneath and hands bound to the high pommel, the lips grinning ferociously, perched a misshapen creature clothed as a man.  Beside these, hatless, his shoes barely holding together, a man of slender figure and sunburnt face held the bridle-rein.  An instant they gazed at each other, the young officer’s eyes filled with sympathetic horror, the other staring apathetically at his rescuer.

“My God!  Can this be you, Hampton?” and the startled lieutenant flung himself from his horse.  “What does it mean?  Why are you here?”

Hampton, leaning against the trembling horse to keep erect, slowly lifted his hand in a semblance of military salute.  “Despatches from Cheyenne.  This is Murphy—­went crazy out yonder.  For God’s sake—­water, food!”

“Your canteen, Lane!” exclaimed Brant.  “Now hold this cup,” and he dashed into it a liberal supply of brandy from a pocket-flask.  “Drink that all down, Hampton.”

The man did mechanically as he was ordered, his hand never relaxing its grasp of the rein.  Then a gleam of reawakened intelligence appeared in his eyes; he glanced up into the leering countenance of Murphy, and then back at those others.  “Give me another for him.”

Brant handed to him the filled cup, noting as he did so the strange steadiness of the hand which accepted it.  Hampton lifted the tin to the figure in the saddle, his own gaze directed straight into the eyes as he might seek to control a wild animal.

“Drink it,” he commanded, curtly, “every drop!”

For an instant the maniac glared back at him sullenly; then he appeared to shrink in terror, and drank swiftly.

“We can make the rest of the way now,” Hampton announced, quietly.  “Lord, but this has been a trip!”

Lane dismounted at Brant’s order, and assisted Hampton to climb into the vacated saddle.  Then the trooper grasped the rein of Murphy’s horse, and the little party started toward where the pack-train was hidden in the valley.  The young officer rode silent and at a walk, his eyes occasionally studying the face of the other and noting its drawn, gray look.  The very sight of Hampton had been a shock.  Why was he here and with Murphy?  Could this strange journey have anything to do with Naida?  Could it concern his own future, as well as hers?  He felt no lingering jealousy of this man, for her truthful words had forever settled that matter.  Yet who was he?  What peculiar power did he wield over her life?