“My wife—my babe—darling Nelly—”
She understood him, and drew from his breast-pocket a photograph of his wife—with a rosy-cheeked, smiling cherub of a little girl, laughing beside her knee.
“Tell them—my last thoughts—my last prayers were of them—” he stammered.
“I will—I will,” said the girl. “Is there nothing more I can do—?”
He made an effort to speak, but the words were choked in their utterance, and with his eyes fixed upon hers, he died without a struggle.
But that one soulful, grateful look of those dark eyes, as they faded out in death, amply repaid the brave-hearted Lizzie Manning for the noble deed she had done, and she rose to her feet, glad that she had heeded the mute call of the dying man, who could have scarcely hoped, at such a time and under such circumstances, any heed would have been paid to it, unless it were the mocking taunts of the merciless Comanches.
CHAPTER VIII. A DARING DEED.
In the mean time, the battle was raging with infernal hotness. All of Captain Shields’ party were unerring marksmen, and they were so accustomed to the most desperate contests with the red-skins, that despite the terrible strait in which they were placed, they preserved their coolness and equipoise like true veterans, and loaded and fired with such rapid sureness, that to this alone may be attributed the severe check, which kept the Comanches from making an overwhelming charge, that would have carried every thing before them.