"Now, Hughes, go ahead, and disarm those Indians."

The cowman shuffled forward, revolver in hand, circling to keep safely beyond reach of Dupont, who eyed him maliciously. The latter was so b.u.t.toned up in a buffalo coat as to make it impossible for him to reach a weapon, and Hamlin permitted his eyes to waver slightly, as he watched the Indians. What occurred the next instant came so suddenly as scarcely to leave an impression. It was swift, instinctive action, primitive impulse. An Indian hand fell beneath its blanket covering; there was a flash of flame across a pony's saddle; Hughes sprang backward, and went reeling into the snow. Hamlin fired, as the savage dodged between the horse's legs, sending him sprawling, and, ignoring the other Indian, swung about to cover Dupont. Swift as he moved, he was too late. With one desperate spring backward the white man was behind the woman's pony, sheltered by her shapeless figure, gripping the animal's bit. The second Indian dropped to his knees and opened fire. With a sudden lurch forward the Sergeant plunged headlong in the snow.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

THE GIRL AND THE MAN

As he went down, uninjured, but realizing now that this was to be a battle to the death, Hamlin flung open his coat, and gripped his revolver. Lying there on his face he fired twice, deliberately, choosing the exposed Indian as a target. The latter, striving to mount his frightened pony, fell forward, grasping the mane desperately, a stream of blood dyeing his blanket as the animal dashed across the valley. Dupont had whirled the girl's horse to the left, and, with her body as a shield, was attempting to escape. Already he was too far away to make a revolver shot safe. Hamlin arose to his knees, and picked up the dropped rifle. His lips were pressed tight; his eyes full of grim determination. Why didn't Dupont fire? Could it be he was unarmed? Or was he hoping by delay to gain a closer shot?

Keen-eyed, resolute, the Sergeant determined to take no chances. The rifle came to a level,--a spurt of flame, a sharp report, and the pony staggered to its knees, and sank, bearing its helpless burden with it.

Dupont let go his grip on the rein, and stood upright, clearly outlined against the white hillside, staring back toward the kneeling Sergeant, the faint smoke cloud whirling between.

"All right--d.a.m.n you!--you've got me!" he said sullenly.

Hamlin never moved, except to snap out the emptied cartridge.

"Unb.u.t.ton that coat," he commanded tersely. "Now turn around. No shooting iron, hey! That's rather careless of a gun-man."

He dropped his rifle, and strode forward revolver in hand, glancing curiously at the dead Indian as he pa.s.sed. A riata hung to the pommel of a saddle, and he paused to shake it loose, uncoiling the thin rope, but with watchful eyes constantly on his prisoner. He felt no fear of Dupont, now that he knew the fellow to be unarmed, and the wounded Indian had vanished over the ridge. Yet Dupont was a powerful man, and desperate enough to accept any chance. Something in the sullen, glowering face confronting him awoke the Sergeant to caution. He seemed to sense the plan of the other, and stopped suddenly, slipping the rope through his fingers.

He swung the coil about his head, measuring the distance, every faculty concentrated on the toss. He had forgotten Hughes lying in the snow behind; he neither saw nor heard the fellow scramble weakly to his knees, revolver outstretched in a half-frozen hand. And Hughes, his eyes already glazing in death, saw only the two figures. In that moment hate triumphed over cowardice; he could not distinguish which was Dupont, which Hamlin. In the madness of despair he cared little--only he would kill some one before he died. His weapon wavered frantically as he sought to aim, the man holding himself up by one hand. Dupont, facing that way, saw this apparition, and leaped aside, stumbling over the dead pony. Hughes' weapon belched, and Hamlin, the la.s.so whirling above him in the air, pitched forward, and came crashing down into the snow.

It was all the work of an instant, a wild, confused bit, so rapidly enacted as to seem unreal even to the partic.i.p.ants. Hamlin lay motionless, barely conscious of living, yet unable to stir a muscle.

Hughes, screaming out one oath, sank back into a heap, his frozen fingers still gripping his smoking weapon. Then Dupont rose cautiously to his knees, peering forth across the dead body of the pony. The man was unnerved, unable at first to comprehend what had occurred. He was saved as by a miracle, and his great form shook from head to foot.

Then, as his eyes rested on the outstretched body of the Sergeant, hate conquered every other feeling; he staggered to his feet, picked up the gun lying in the snow, walked across, and brutally kicked the prostrate form. There was no response, no movement.

"All I wish is that I 'd been the one to kill yer," he growled savagely, grinning down. "h.e.l.l of a good shot, though I reckon the blame fool meant it for me." He threw the rifle forward, in readiness, and moved cautiously over toward Hughes.

"Deader than a door-nail," he muttered, pressing back the buffalo coat, and staring contemptuously down into the white, staring face. "I wonder how that coward ever happened to be here--laying out for me, I reckon!"

He straightened up and laughed, glancing furtively about.

"Some good joke that. The whole outfit cleaned out, and me twenty thousand to the good," feeling inside his coat to make sure. "It 's there all right. Well, good-bye, boys, there don't seem to be nothing here for me to stay for."

He caught the straying pony and swung up into the saddle, glanced about once more at the motionless figures, and finally rode off up the ridge, unconsciously following the tracks left by the fleeing Indian. If the girl ever occurred to him, he gave no sign of remembrance, and she uttered no word. Lying on her side, her eyes wide open, she watched him ride away, across the barren s.p.a.ce, until the slow-moving pony topped the ridge, and disappeared on the other side. Twice the man turned and glanced back into the valley, but saw nothing except the black blotches on the snow. Molly made no motion, no outcry. She preferred death there alone, rather than rescue at his hands. Scarcely conscious, feeling no strength in her limbs, no hope pulsing at her heart, she closed her eyes and lay still. Yet wrapped about as she was, her young body remained warm, and the very disappearance of Dupont yielded a sense of freedom, awoke a strong desire to live. Her eyes opened again, despairingly, and gazed across the barren expanse. She could see Hamlin lying face downward, the yellow lining of his cavalry cape over his head. It seemed to her the man's foot moved. Could she be dreaming? No! He actually drew up one limb.

This evidence that the Sergeant still lived gave her fresh strength and renewed determination. She struggled to move her own feet; the left was free, but the right was caught firmly beneath the pony. She struggled desperately, forgetful of pain, in the faith that she might save Hamlin. Little by little she worked the imprisoned limb free, only to find it numb and helpless. She lay there breathless, conscious that she ached from head to foot. Beyond her the Sergeant groaned and turned partially over upon his side. Tugging at the blanket she managed to free one arm, gripped the mane of the dead pony, and drew herself into a sitting posture. Now the blood seemed to surge through her veins in new volume, and she labored feverishly to release the other hand. At last she undid a knot with her teeth, and slipped the blanket from her, beating her hands together to restore circulation.

Her right leg still was too numb to stand upon, but she crept forward, dragging it helplessly behind her over the snow, to where Hamlin lay.

The girl's heart seemed to stop beating as she looked at him--at the white, colorless face, the closed eyes, the discoloration of blood staining the temple. Yet he lived; his faint breath was plainly perceptible in the frosty air.

"O G.o.d!" she sobbed, "what can I do!"

It was an unrestrained cry of anguish, yet there was no hesitation in action. She had forgotten everything except that helpless figure lying before her on the snow--her own danger, the surrounding desolation, the dead forms accentuating that wilderness tragedy. With bare hands she bathed his face in snow, rubbing the flesh until it flushed red, pressing her own warm body against his, her lips speaking his name again and again, almost hysterically, as though she hoped thus to call him back to consciousness. Her exploring fingers told her that it was no serious wound which had creased the side of his head; if there was no other he would surely revive, and the discovery sent her blood throbbing through her veins. She lifted his head to her lap, chafing his cold wrists frantically, her eyes staring again out across the barren snow fields, with fresh realization of their intense loneliness.

She choked back a sob of despair, and glanced down again into Hamlin's face. He did not stir but his eyes were open, regarding her in bewilderment.

"Molly," he whispered, forgetting, "is this really you? What has happened?"

The girl's eyes filled instantly with tears, but she did not move, except that the clasp of her hands grew stronger.

"Yes, I am Molly; please do not move yet. You have been hurt, but it is all right now."

"Hurt!" he lifted his head slightly and stared about; then dropped it again with a sigh of content. "Oh, yes, now I know. Hughes shot me from behind." He struggled upright, in spite of her efforts at restraint, feeling beside him for the rifle. "Dupont was there, behind that dead pony. What became of Dupont?"

She dropped her face in her hands, her form trembling.

"He--he got away. He thought you were dead; to--to make sure he came over and kicked you. Then he took your rifle, and the only pony left, and rode off."

"And left you?"

"Yes--he--he never thought of me; only--only how he should escape with the money. I never moved, never opened my eyes; perhaps he believed me dead also, and--and I prayed he would. I would rather have died than have him touch me again. And--and I thought you were dead too. O G.o.d!

It was so horrible!"

The man's voice was soft and low, thrilling with the love that refused control.

"I know, dear; I know it all, now," he said tenderly, clasping her hands. "But that is all over and gone." He put up one hand to his wound. "Heavens, how my head aches! But that pain won't last long. I am a bit groggy yet, but will be on my feet pretty soon. You are a brave little girl. Tell me how you got free?"

She went over the short story slowly, not lifting her eyes to his, and he listened in silence, moving his limbs about, confident of the gradual return of strength.

"But how did it happen?" he asked. "Your capture? Your father's death? It is all a mystery to me after I left you on the hotel balcony."

The tears stood in her eyes suddenly uplifted to his, and impulsively the man encircled her with his arm.

"You know I care, dear," he exclaimed recklessly. "You are not afraid to tell me."

"No, no; you have been so kind, so true. I can tell you everything--only it is so hard to confess the truth about my father."

"You suspect he was implicated?" he asked in astonishment, "that he actually had a part in the plot?"

She looked at him gravely, down into his very soul.

"Yes, and--and that hurts more than all the rest."

CHAPTER x.x.xII

WORDS OF LOVE

Hamlin was silent for a moment, not knowing what to say that would comfort or help. He had never suspected this, and yet he could not refrain altogether from experiencing a feeling of relief. Deeply as he sympathized with her in this trouble, still the man could not but be conscious of those barriers formerly existing between them which this discovery had instantly swept away. Now they could meet upon a level, as man and woman. No longer could rank intervene; not even the stain of his own court-martial. Possibly she dreamed of what was pa.s.sing in his mind, for she suddenly lifted her eyes to his.

"Shall I tell you?"

"No; not now; both your explanation and mine can wait," he replied quickly. "I can stand alone now--see," and he regained his feet, swaying slightly with dizziness, yet smiling down at her as he held forth a hand. "Now you try it; take hold of me until you test your limbs--that was an ugly fall you got when I shot your pony."