her, "do you?"

Somehow she was not as frightened as she had been. The calm steady
coolness of the man was having its natural effect, was helping to
control her own nerves. She felt his strength, his confidence, and was
beginning to lean upon him--he seemed to know exactly what he was about.

"Well, no, honestly I don't; not yet," he returned, hesitating
slightly. "There is no use denying we are in a mighty bad hole. If
Moylan had n't got shot we might have held out till help arrived; I 've
got about twenty cartridges left; but you and I alone never could do
it. I 've got to think it out, I reckon; this has been a blind fight
so far; nothing to it but blazing away as fast as I could pull trigger.
Now, maybe, I can use my brains a bit."

She could not see him, but some instinct led her to put out her hand
and touch the rough sleeve of his shirt. It made her sure of his
presence, his protection. The man felt the movement, and understood
its meaning, his heart throbbing strangely.

"You are going to trust me?"

"Of--of course; how could you doubt that?"

"Well," still half questioning, "you see I 'm only an enlisted man, and
sometimes officers' ladies think we are mostly pretty poor stuff, just
food for powder."

She tightened her grip on his sleeve, drawing a quick breath of
surprise.