The deeply interested lieutenant removed his watchful eyes from off his
charge just long enough to glance inquiringly across his shoulder.
"Has the man any signs of a wound, sergeant?" he asked, loudly.

"A mighty ugly slug in the shoulder, sir; has bled scandalous, but I
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