"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.