"Oh, por Dios! It is the señor who rode the horse!" she muttered, and looked quickly over her shoulder at the Rhues cabin.
"They left him; they thought he was dead," she went on aloud. "They should know; he should be with them. They were going for him when the shooting began!"
She looked closer into VB's face and he moaned again. His eyes opened. The girl asked a sharp question in Spanish.
"Is the señor much hurt?" she repeated in the language he understood.
"Oh, Captain!" he moaned. "Why? Why did you—quit?"
She lifted him up then and he struggled sluggishly to help himself.
Once he muttered: "Oh, Gail! It hurts so!"
She strained to the limits of her lithe strength until she had him on his feet. Then she drew one of his arms about her neck, bracing herself to support his lagging weight.
"Come," she said comfortingly. "We will go—to them."
No light showed from the Rhues cabin, but the girl was sure the men were there, or would come soon. Loyal to Julio for the dollar and the memory of his graciousness, she worked with the heart of a good Samaritan, guiding the unconscious steps of the muttering man toward the little dark blot of houses.