“Oh, it is like a dream—­an awful dream.  I could n’t help myself.  When the Mexican rolled off on to the floor, I knew he was dead, and—­and there was his revolver held right out to me in his hand.  Before I realized I had it, and was up here—­I—­I killed one—­he—­he fell in the wheel; I—­I can never forget that!”

“Don’t try,” broke in Hamlin earnestly.  “You ’re all right,” he added, admiration in his voice.  “And so it was you there with the small gun.  I heard it bark, but never knew Gonzales was hit.  When did it happen?”

“When—­when they fired first.  It—­it was all smoke out there when I got to the window; they—­they looked like—­like wild beasts, and it did n’t seem to me I was myself at all.”

The man laughed lightly.

“You did the right thing, that ’s all,” he consoled, anxious to control her excitement.  “Now you and I must decide what to do next—­we are all alone.”

“Alone!  Has Mr. Moylan been hit also?”

“Yes,” he answered, feeling it was better to tell her frankly.  “He was shot, and is beyond our help.  But come,” and he reached over and took her hand, “you must not give up now.”

She offered no resistance, but sat motionless, her face turned away.  Yet she knew she trembled from head to foot, the reaction mastering her.  A red tongue of flame seemed to slit the outside blackness; there was a single sharp report, echoing back from the bluff, but no sound of the striking bullet.  Just an instant he caught a glimpse of her face, as she drew back, startled.

“Oh, they are coming again!  What shall we do?”

“No,” he insisted, still retaining her hand, confident in his judgment.  “Those fellows will not attempt to rush us again to-night.  You must keep cool, for we shall need all our wits to get away.  An Indian never risks a night assault, unless it is a surprise.  He wants to see what he is up against.  Those bucks have got all they want of this outfit; they have no reason to suppose any of us were hit.  They are as much afraid as we are, but when it gets daylight, and they can see the shape we ’re in, then they ’ll come yelling.”

“But they can lie out there in the dark and shoot,” she protested.  “That shot was aimed at us, was n’t it?”

“I reckon it was, but it never got here.  Don’t let that worry you; if an Indian ever hits anything with a gun it ’s going to be by pure accident.”  He stared out of the window.  “They ’re liable to bang away occasionally, and I suppose it is up to us to make some response just to tell them we ’re awake and ready.  But they ain’t firing expecting to do damage—­only to attract attention while they haul off their dead.  There ’s a red snake yonder now creeping along in the grass—­see!”

“No,” hysterically, “it is just black to me.”

“You have n’t got the plainsman’s eyes yet.  Watch, now; I ’m going to stir the fellow up.”

He leaned forward, the stock of the Henry held to his shoulder, and she clutched the window-casing.  An instant the muzzle of the rifle wavered slightly, then steadied into position.