"Sergeant--forgot I was n't properly introduced," and he bent his head slightly, glancing again toward the girl. "Hamlin is the rest of it."
"'Brick' Hamlin?"
"Sometimes--delicate reference to my hair, miss," and he took off his hat, his gray eyes laughing. "Born that way, but does n't seem to interfere with me much, since I was a kid. You 've heard of me then, Moylan? So has our little friend, Gonzales, here."
The sober-faced sutler merely nodded, evidently in no mood for pleasantry.
"Oh, ye're all right," he said finally. "I've heard 'em say you was a fighter down round Santa Fé, an' I know it myself now. But what the hell are we goin' to do? This yere stagecoach ain't much of a fort to keep off a bunch o' redskins once they git their mad up. Them musket bullets go through like the sides was paper, an' I reckon we ain't got no over-supply o' ammunition--I know I ain't fer this Winchester. How long do yer reckon we kin hold out?"
Hamlin's face became grave, his eyes also, turning toward the river. The sun was already sinking low in the west, and the Indians, gathered in council out of rifle-shot, were like shadows against the glimmering water beyond.
"They 'll try us again just before dark," he affirmed slowly, "but more cautiously. If that attack fails, then they 'll endeavor to creep in, and take us by surprise. It's going to be a clear night, and there is small chance for even an Indian to hide in that buffalo-grass with the stars shining. They have got to come up from below, for no buck could climb down this bluff without making a noise. I don't see why, with decent luck, we can't hold out as we are until help gets here; those fellows who rode away will report at Cañon Bluff and send a rider on to Dodge for help. There ought to be soldiers out here by noon to-morrow. What troops are at Dodge now?"
"Only a single company--infantry," replied Moylan gloomily. "All the rest are out scouting 'long the Solomon. Damned if I believe they 'll send us a man. Those two cowards will likely report us all dead--otherwise they would n't have any excuse for runnin' away--and the commander will satisfy himself by sendin' a courier to the fellers in the field."
"Well, then," commented the Sergeant, his eyes gleaming, "we 've simply got to fight it out alone, I reckon, and hang on to our last shots. What do you make of those reds?"
The three men stared for some time at the distant group over their rifles, in silence.