Sergeant, satisfied, turned and floundered
through the drifts to the bank of the stream. He was alert and
fearful, yet determined. No matter what danger of discovery might
threaten, he must build a fire to save Carroll's life. The raging
storm was not over with; there was no apparent cessation of violence in
the blasts of the icy wind, and the snow swept about him in blinding
sheets. It would continue all day, all another night, perhaps, and
they could never live through without food and warmth. He realized the
risk fully, his gloved hand gripping the butt of his revolver, as he
stared up and down the snow-draped bluffs. He wished he had picked up
Wasson's rifle. Who was it that had shot them up, anyhow? The very
mystery added to the dread. Could it have been Dupont? There was no
other conception possible, yet it seemed like a miracle that they could
have kept so close on the fellow's trail all night long through the
storm. Yet who else would open fire at sight? Who else, indeed, would
be in this God-forsaken country? And whoever it was, where had he
gone? How had he disappeared so suddenly and completely? He could not
be far away, that was a certainty. No plainsman would attempt to ford
that icy stream, nor desert the shelter of these bluffs in face of the
storm. It would be suicidal. And if Dupont and his Indians were close
at hand, Miss McDonald would be with them. He had had no time in which
to reason this out before, but now the swift realization of the close
proximity of the girl came to him like an electric shock. Whatever the
immediate danger he must thaw out Carroll, and thus be free himself.
He could look back to where the weary horses huddled beneath the bank,
grouped about the man so helplessly swaddled in blankets on the ground.
They were dim, pitiable objects, barely discernible through the flying
scud, yet Hamlin was quick to perceive the advantage of their
position--the overhanging bluff was complete protection from any attack
except along the open bank of the river. Two armed men could defend
the spot against odds. And below, a hundred yards away, perhaps--it
was hard to judge through that smother--the bare limbs of several
stunted cottonwoods waved dismally against the gray sky. Hesitating,
his eyes searching the barrenness above to where the stream bent
northward and disappeared, he turned at last and tramped downward along
the edge of the stream. Across stretched the level, w
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