“Watson,” he questioned, as the latter saluted and stood at attention, “do you know a man called Silent Murphy?”

“The scout?  Yes, sir; knew him as long ago as when he was corporal in your father’s troop.  He was reduced to the ranks for striking an officer.”

Brant wheeled in astonishment.  “Was he ever a soldier in the Seventh?”

“He was that, for two enlistments, and a mighty tough one; but he was always quick enough for a fight in field or garrison.”

“Has he shown himself here at the camp?”

“No, sir; didn’t know he was anywhere around.  He and I were never very good friends, sir.”

The lieutenant remained silent for several moments, endeavoring to perfect some feasible plan.

“Despatch an orderly to the telegraph-office,” he finally commanded, “to inquire if this man Murphy receives any messages there, and if they know where he is stopping.  Send an intelligent man, and have him discover all the facts he can.  When he returns bring him in to me.”

He had enjoyed a bath and a shave, and was yet lingering over his coffee, when the two soldiers entered with their report.  The sergeant stepped aside, and the orderly, a tall, boyish-looking fellow with a pugnacious chin, saluted stiffly.

“Well, Bane,” and the officer eyed his trim appearance with manifest approval, “what did you succeed in learning?”

“The operator said this yere Murphy hed never bin thar himself, sir, but there wus several messages come fer him.  One got here this mornin’.”

“What becomes of them?”

“They’re called fer by another feller, sir.”

“Oh, they are!  Who?”

“Red Slavin wus the name he give me of thet other buck.”

When the two had disappeared, Brant sat back thinking rapidly.  There was a mystery here, and such actions must have a cause.  Something either in or about Glencaid was compelling Murphy to keep out of sight—­but what?  Who?  Brant was unable to get it out of his head that all this secrecy centred around Naida.  With those incautiously spoken words as a clew, he suspected that Murphy knew something about her, and that knowledge was the cause for his present erratic actions.  Perhaps Hampton knew; at least he might possess some additional scrap of information which would help to solve the problem.  He looked at his watch, and ordered his horse to be saddled.

It did not seem quite so simple now, this projected interview with Hampton, as it had appeared the night before.  In the clear light of day, he began to realize the weakness of his position, the fact that he possessed not the smallest right to speak on behalf of Naida Gillis.  He held no relationship whatsoever to her, and should he venture to assume any, it was highly probable the older man would laugh contemptuously in his face.  Brant knew better than to believe Hampton would ever let go unless he was obliged to do so; he comprehended the impotence of threats on such a character, as well as his probable indifference to moral obligations.  Nevertheless, the die was cast, and perhaps, provided an open quarrel could be avoided, the meeting might result in good to all concerned.