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.
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