She did exactly as he bade her, every movement mechanical, her eyes
fastened upon his face.
"I--I reckon that was partly it," she responded at last, her voice
faint and husky. Then her glance wandered away, and finally rested
upon another little kneeling group a few yards farther down stream. A
look of fresh intelligence swept into her face.
"Is that him?" she questioned, tremblingly. "Is--is he dead?"
"He was n't when we first got here, but mighty near gone, I'm afraid.
I've been working over you ever since."
She shook herself free and sat weakly up, her lips tight compressed,
her eyes apparently blind to all save that motionless body she could
barely distinguish. "Let me tell you, that fellow's a man, just the
same; the gamest, nerviest man I ever saw. I reckon he got hit, too,
though he never said nothing about it. That's his style."
The deeply interested lieutenant removed his watchful eyes from off his
charge just long enough to glance inquiringly across his shoulder.
"Has the man any signs of a wound, sergeant?" he asked, loudly.
"A mighty ugly slug in the shoulder, sir; has bled scandalous, but I
guess it 's the very luck that's goin' to save him; seems now to be
comin' out all right."
The officer's brows knitted savagely. "It begins to look as if this
might be some of our business. What happened? Indians?"
"Yes."
"How far away?"
"I don't know. They caught us in a canyon somewhere out yonder, maybe
three or four days ago; there was a lot killed, some of them soldiers.
My dad was shot, and then that night he--he got me out up the rocks,
and he--he was carrying me in his arms when I--I fainted, I saw there
was blood on his shirt, and it was dripping down on the grass as he
walked. That's about all I know."
"Who is the man? What's his name?"
The girl looked squarely into the lieutenant's eyes, and, for some
reason which she could never clearly explain even to herself, lied
calmly. "I don't know; I never asked."
Sergeant Carson rose stiffly from his knees beside the extended figure
and strode heavily across toward where they were sitting, lifting his
hand in soldierly salute, his heels clicking as he brought them sharply
together in military precision.
"The fellow is getting his eyes open, sir," he reported, "and is
breathing more regular. Purty weak yit, but he'll come round in time."
He stared curiously down at the girl now sitting up unsupported, while
a sudden look of surprised recognition swept across his face.