Chapter 10

THE RIPENING OF ACQUAINTANCE

They needed to retire but a few steps to be entirely concealed, yet so situated as to command a view across the muddy stream. The sun had not risen above the horizon, but the gray dawn gave misty revealment of the sluggish-flowing river, the brown slope opposite, and the darker shadow of bluffs beyond. The popping of those distant guns had ceased by the time they attained their new position, and they could distinguish the Indians--mere black dots against the brown slope--advancing in a semicircle toward the silent stage. Evidently they were puzzled, fearful of some trickery, for occasionally a gun would crack viciously, the brown smoke plainly visible, the advancing savages halting to observe the effect. Then a bright colored blanket was waved aloft as though in signal, and the entire body, converging toward the deserted coach, leaped forward with a wild yell, which echoed faintly across the water.

The girl hid her face in the sand, with a half-stifled sob, but the Sergeant watched grimly, his eyes barely above the ridge. What would they do when they discovered the dead bodies?--when they realized that others had eluded their vigilance during the night? Would they be able to trace them, or would his ruse succeed? Of course their savage cunning would track them as far as the river--there was no way in which he could have successfully concealed the trail made down the gully, or the marks left on the sandy bank. But would they imagine he had dared to cross the broad stream, burdened with the girl, confronting almost certain death in the quicksand? Would they not believe rather that he had waded along the water's edge headed west, hoping thus to escape to the bluffs, where some hiding-place might be found? Even if they suspected a crossing, would any warriors among them be reckless enough to follow? Would they not be more apt to believe that both fugitives had been sucked down into the treacherous stream? Almost breathless Hamlin watched, these thoughts coursing through his mind, realizing the deadly trap in which they were caught, if the Indians suspected the truth and essayed the passage. Behind them was sand, ridge after ridge, as far as the eye could discern, and every step they took in flight would leave its plain trail. And now the test was at hand.

He saw them crowd about the coach, leaping and yelling with fury; watched them jerk open the door, and drag forth the two dead bodies, dancing about them, like so many demons, brandishing their guns. A moment they were bunched thus, their wild yelling shrill with triumph; then some among them broke away, bending low as they circled in against the bluff. They knew already that there had been others in the stage, others who had escaped. They were seeking the trail. Suddenly one straightened up gesticulating, and the others rushed toward him--they had found the "sign"! They were silent now, those main trailers, two of them on hands and knees. Only back where the bodies lay some remained yelling and dancing furiously. Then they also, in response to a shout and the wave of a blanketed arm, scattered, running west toward the gully. There was no hesitancy now; some savage instinct seemed to tell them where the fugitives had gone. They dragged the dead warrior from the ditch, screaming savagely at the discovery. A dozen scrambled for the river bank, others ran for the pony herd, while one or two remained beside the dead warrior. Even at that distance Hamlin could distinguish Roman Nose, and tell what were his orders by every gesture of his arm. The Sergeant grasped the girl's hand, his own eyes barely above the sand ridge, his lips whispering back.

"No, don't move; I'll tell you everything. The stage has been gutted and set on fire. Now they are coming with the ponies. Most of them are directly opposite studying the marks we left on the sand of the bank. Yes, they look across here, but the chief is sure we have gone the other way; he is waving his hand up the river now, and talking. Now he is getting on his horse; there are ten or twelve of them. One fellow is pointing across here, but no one agrees with him. Now Roman Nose is giving orders. Hear that yell! They 're off now, riding up stream, lashing their ponies into a run. All of them? No; quite a bunch are going back to the coach. I don't believe they are going to hang around here long though, for they are driving in all their ponies."

"But won't those others come back when they discover we have not gone up the river?"

"I wish I could answer that," he replied earnestly. "But it all depends on what those devils know of the whereabouts of troops. They are Northern Indians, and must have broken through the scouting details sent out from Wallace and Dodge. Some of the boys are bound to be after them, and there is more chance for them to get back safely along the mountains than in the other direction. I don't suppose an Indian in the bunch was ever south of the Arkansas. Wait! Those fellows are going to move now; going for good, too--they are taking the dead Indians with them."

They were little more than black dots at that distance, yet the sun was up by this time and his keen vision could distinguish every movement.

"Creep up here, and you can see also," he said quietly. "They are far enough away now so that it is safe."

There was a moment of breathless quiet, the two fugitives peering cautiously over the sand ridge. To the girl it was a confusion of figures rushing back and forth about the smoking ruins of the stage; occasionally a faint yell echoed across the river, and she could distinguish a savage on his pony gesticulating as he rode back and forth. But the Sergeant comprehended the scene. His eyes met hers and read her bewilderment.

"They are going all right, and in a hurry. It's plain enough they are afraid to stay there any longer. See, they are lashing bodies on to the ponies. Ah, that is what I wanted to be sure about--that fellow is heading west on the trail; now the others are moving."

"Then you are sure Roman Nose will not return? That--that we are safe?"

"Yes; I would n't hesitate to go back as soon as the last of them disappear over the ridge," pointing up the river. "They knew they had to go that way; Roman Nose and his band hoped we 'd taken that direction, and hurried on ahead to catch us if he could. They are afraid to stay about here any longer. Look how they are lashing those ponies; there, the last of them are leaving."

They lay there in the sand, already becoming warm, under the rays of the sun, trying to assure themselves that all danger of discovery had vanished. There was no movement on the opposite shore, only the blue spiral of smoke curling up against the bluff, marking where the stage had stood. About this, outlined upon the brown grass, appeared darker patches representing dead ponies and the bodies of Moylan and Gonzales where they had been tumbled, scalped and otherwise mutilated. Down by the river a wounded pony tried to follow the disappearing cavalcade, but fell, giving vent to one scream of agony. Then all was silent, motionless, the last straggler clubbing his horse pitilessly as he vanished over the ridge.

Hamlin sat up, his eyes smiling.

"We are the lucky ones, Miss McDonald," he said, his manner unconsciously more formal now that the danger had passed and a swift realization of who his companion was recurring to his mind. "Something must have frightened them." He shaded his eyes, staring at the bluffs opposite, "But there is nothing in sight from here. Well, the best thing we can do is to eat breakfast. May I have the haversack, and see what it is stocked with?"

"Certainly not. There is so little I can do, I do not propose yielding any prerogative." And she drew her head through the strap, letting the leather bag fall to the sand. "I am afraid there is no cloth here. Would you dare light a fire?"

"Hardly, even if we had fuel," he answered, watching her with interest. She glanced up into his face, her cheeks reddening.

"Why don't you want me to do this?"

"How do you know I object? Indeed, it is quite pleasant to be waited upon. Only, you see, it is very unusual for an officer's daughter to take such good care of an enlisted man."

"But I am not thinking of that at all. You--this is different."

"For the moment, perhaps," just a slight bitterness in his tone, "and I should enjoy it while I can."

She stopped in her work, sitting straight before him. Her eyes were indignant, yet she stifled the first words that leaped to her lips. His soft hat lay on the sand and the sun revealed his tanned face, bringing out its strength.

"You--should n't say that," she faltered. "Surely you do not believe I will ever become ungrateful."

"No; and yet gratitude is not altogether satisfactory." He hesitated. "It is hard to explain just what I mean to you, for you do not realize the life we lead out here--the loneliness of it. Even a man in the ranks may possess the desires of a human being. I--well, I 'm hungry for the companionship of a good woman. Don't misunderstand, Miss McDonald. I am not presuming, nor taking advantage of the accident which has placed us in this peculiar position, but I have been a trooper out here now a long while, stationed at little isolated frontier posts, riding the great plains, doing the little routine duties of soldiering. I have n't spoken to a decent woman on terms of social equality for two years; I 've looked at a few from a distance and taken orders from them. But they have glanced through me as though I were something inanimate instead of a man. I saved an officer's life once down there," and he pointed into the southeast, "and his wife thanked me as though it were a disagreeable duty. I reckon you don't understand, but I don't like the word gratitude."

"But I do understand," and she stretched out her hand to him across the opened haversack. "I 'm not so dull, and it must be awful to feel alone like that, I told you I--I liked you, and--I do. Now remember that, please, and be good. From now on I am not Major McDonald's daughter, not even Miss McDonald--I 'm just Molly McDonald."

The gray eyes laughed.

"You are assuming a great risk."

"I don't believe it," her forehead wrinkling a little, but her eyes bright. "You and I can be friends--can't we?"

"We 'll try, out here, at least. Even if the dream does n't last long, it will be pleasant to remember."

"You do not think it will last, then?"

He shook his head.

"I would be a fool to hope; I have been in the army too long."

They were still for a minute, the girl's fingers toying with the flap of the haversack, her eyes gazing across the river. He thought they were misty.

"I am sorry you are so prejudiced," she said at last slowly, "for I am not like that at all. I am not going to be ashamed of a friend because he--he is in the ranks. I shall be only the more proud. What is your full name?"

He passed his hand over his hair, and laughed.

"They call me 'Brick' Hamlin--a subtle reference to this crown of glory."

"But it is n't red," she insisted swiftly. "Only it shows a little bright with the sun on it, and I am not going to call you that. I don't like nicknames. What did they call you before you went into the army? When--when you did know good women?"

The Sergeant bent his head, and then lifted his gray eyes to the girl's face.

"I had almost forgotten," he confessed, "but I'll tell you--David Carter Hamlin; there, you have all of it--my mother called me Dave--could you, once?"

"Could I?" laughingly. "Why, of course; now, Dave, we will have breakfast."

"And I am quite ready for it--Molly."

The girl's cheeks reddened, but their eyes met, and both laughed.