guess it 's the very luck that's goin' to save him; seems now to be
comin' out all right."

The officer's brows knitted savagely. "It begins to look as if this
might be some of our business. 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.

"Great guns!" he exclaimed, eagerly, "but I know you. You're old man
Gillis's gal from Bethune, ain't ye?"

The quickly uplifted dark eyes seemed to lighten the ghastly pallor of
her face, and her lips trembled. "Yes," she acknowledged simply, "but
he's dead."

The lieutenant laid his ungloved hand softly on her shoulder, his blue
eyes moist with aroused feeling.

"Never mind, little girl," he said, with boyish sympathy. "I knew
Gillis, and, now the sergeant has spoken, I remember you quite well.
Thought all the time your face was familiar, but could n't quite decide
where I had seen you before. So poor old Gillis has gone, and you are
left all alone in the world! Well, he was an old soldier, could not
have hoped to live much longer anyway, and would rather go fighting at
the end. We 'll take you back with us to Bethune, and the ladies of
the garrison will look after you."

The recumbent figure lying a few yards away half lifted itself upon one
elbow, and Hampton's face, white and haggard, stared uncertainly across
the open space. For an instant his gaze dwelt upo