While these words were passing the steed remained motionless, but Nellie had observed from the first that her parent had a companion.
“Father,” she whispered, “you have some one with you.”
“Yes, my child, I had forgotten it in my delight at meeting you.”
A horseman was sitting as motionless as a statue in the trail behind them, the form of himself and animal clearly outlined in the obscurity. He had not spoken nor stirred since the coming of the girl. The head of the steed was high, but beyond and above it loomed the 119 head and shoulders of the man sitting upright, like an officer of dragoons. The gloom prevented a fair view of his countenance, but Nellie fancied he was of pleasing appearance and wore a mustache.
Captain Dawson turned his head and looked over his shoulder, as if to locate the man.
“That is Lieutenant Russell; he served under me during the latter part of the war; he is my friend, Nellie, for he saved my life. Lieutenant,” added the captain, elevating his voice, “this is my daughter Nellie of whom you heard me speak so often.”
The young officer lifted his cap, the graceful gesture being plainly seen and replied with a pleasant laugh.
“Miss Dawson, I am glad to become acquainted with you and hope I shall soon be favored with a better view.”
“And I hope to see more of the one that was the means of saving my dear father,” she was quick to reply.
“Well, I guess that was equal on both sides, for I should never have reached this place but for him.”