Just as she was on the point of giving up her wait, mounting and continuing south alone, a fall of galloping hoofs reached her ears from north of the river. Presently a horseman came into sight, splashed into the stream, watered his horse, and made for the southern bank.
Dell strained her eyes.
Undoubtedly it was Patterson. The moonlight silvered against his belt-buckle and struck a gleam from the carbine at his saddle-horn.
With cautious looks to right and left, the sergeant rode out of the river and up the bank.
Dell arose, mounted, and gathered up the reins in one hand.
The alert sergeant, hearing movements among the low trees, drew to a halt and unshipped his carbine in a flash. The gun was at his shoulder and leveled before Dell had showed herself.
“Don’t shoot, sergeant!” the girl called.
“What the blazes——” Patterson did not lower the gun, and the words merely evidenced his complete astonishment. “Who are ye?”
“Dell Dauntless. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Thereupon Dell pushed out into the open, and Patterson gave vent to a low whistle and lowered his gun.