"Brave girl!" shouted Hanscom, for he recognized Helen. "Hold the fort!" But his voice, husky with excitement, failed to reach her.
She heard the sound of his revolver, however, and, believing him to be only another of the attacking party, took aim at him and fired. The bullet from her rifle flew so near his head that he heard its song.
Again her rifle flashed, this time at the man above her, and again the forester shouted her name. In the midst of the vast and splendid landscape she seemed a minute brave insect defending itself against invading beasts. Her pursuers, recognizing the ranger's horse, wheeled their ponies and disappeared in the forest.
Hanscom spurred his horse straight toward the girl, calling her name, but even then she failed to recognize him till, lifting his hat from his head, he desperately shouted:
"Don't shoot, girl—don't shoot! It's Hanscom—the ranger!"
She knew him at last, and, dropping her rifle to the ground, awaited his approach in silence.
As he leaped from his horse and ran toward her she lifted her hands to him in a gesture of relief and welcome, and he took her in his arms as naturally as he would have taken a frightened child to his breast.
"Great God! What's the meaning of all this?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"
She was white, but calm. "No, but daddy is—" And they hastened to where the old man lay crumpled up beside a rock.
Hanscom knelt to the fallen man and examined him carefully. "He's alive—he isn't wounded," he said. "He's only stunned. Wait! I'll bring some water."