relevantly. Then
he slipped his hands under her arms again. Suddenly he felt something
wet and warm and sticky. He pulled a hand out. It was blood-stained.

"Aw!" exclaimed Red.

"Son, what'd you expect?" demanded Slingerland. "She got shot or cut,
an' in her fright she crawled in thar. Come, over with her. Let's see.
She might live."

This practical suggestion acted quickly upon Neale. He turned the girl
over so that her head lay upon his knees. The face thus exposed was
deathly pale, set like stone in horror. The front of her dress was a
bloody mass, and her hands were red.

"Stabbed in the breast!" exclaimed King.

"No," replied Slingerland. "If she'd been stabbed she'd been scalped,
too. Mebbe thet blood comes from an arrow an' she might hev pulled it
out."

Neale bent over her with swift scrutiny. "No cut or hole in her dress!"

"Boys, thar ain't no marks on her--only thet blood," added Slingerland,
hopefully.

Neale tore open the front of her blouse and slipped his hand in upon her
breast. It felt round, soft, warm under his touch, but quiet. He shook
his head.

"Those moans I heard must have been her last dying breaths," he said.

"Mebbe. But she shore doesn't look daid to me," replied King. "I've seen
daid people. Put your hand on her heart."

Neale had been feeling for heart pulsations on her right side. He
shifted his hand. Instantly through the soft swell of her breast
throbbed a beat-beat-beat. The beatings were regular and not at all
faint.

"Good Lord, what a fool I am!" he cried. "She's alive! Her heart's
going! There's not a wound on her!"

"Wal, we can't see any, thet's sure," replied Slingerland.

"She might hev a fatal hurt, all the same," suggested King.

"No!" exclaimed Neale. "That blood's from some one else--most likely
her murdered mother.... Red, run for some water. Fetch it in your hat.
Slingerland, ride after the troops."

Slingerland rose and mounted his horse. "Wal, I've an idee. Let's take
the girl to my cabin. Thet's not fur from hyar. It's a long ride to the
camp. An' if she needs the troop doctor we can fetch him to my place."

"But the Sioux?"

"Wal, she'd be safer with me. The Injuns an' me are friends."

"All right. Good. But you ride after the troops, anyhow, and tell Dillon
about the girl--that we're going to your cabin." Slingerland galloped
away after the dust cloud down the trail.

Neale gazed strangely down at the face of the girl he had rescued. Her
l