THE TRAIL OF SILENT MURPHY The young infantryman who had been detailed for the important service of telegraph operator, sat in the Cheyenne office, his feet on the rude table his face buried behind a newspaper.

He had passed through two eventful weeks of unremitting service, being on duty both night and day, and now, the final despatches forwarded, he felt entitled to enjoy a period of well-earned repose.
"Could you inform me where I might find Silent Murphy, a government scout ?" The voice had the unmistakable ring of military authority, and the soldier operator instinctively dropped his feet to the floor.
"Well, my lad, you are not dumb, are you ?" The telegrapher's momentary hesitation vanished; his ambition to become a martyr to the strict laws of service secrecy was not sufficiently strong to cause him to take the doubtful chances of a lie.

"He was here, but has gone." "Where ?" "The devil knows.

He rode north, carrying despatches for Custer." "When ?" "Oh, three or four hours ago." Hampton swore softly but fervently, behind his clinched teeth.
"Where is Custer ?" "Don't know exactly.

Supposed to be with Terry and Gibbons, somewhere near the mouth of the Powder, although he may have left there by this time, moving down the Yellowstone.