Dell saw the two Apaches almost as soon as she had seen the sergeant. Both Indians carried rifles, but they must have been muzzle-loaders. Had they been repeating rifles, the girl would probably have paid with her life for her reckless charge along the hogback.
Having no time to halt and reload, the Apaches were springing up the rocky slope, one with a knife in his free hand and the other with a hatchet.
Tumbling out of her saddle, Dell rushed to Patterson’s side, jerking out her revolvers as she ran.
The Indians were within thirty paces of her when she opened fire. One fell, throwing up his arms and tipping backward down the slope; the other—the one with the knife—flung himself behind a boulder.
Dell understood very well what this meant. Screened by the boulder, the Apache intended to reload his rifle and then take his time picking her off with a bullet.
Without a moment’s hesitation the girl charged the boulder, so that the Indian had no time to use powder-horn or bullet-pouch. Forced from cover, he bounded back toward the bushes at the base of the hogback, zigzagging and ducking to avoid the lead sent after him.
Whether she hit the redskin or not Dell could not tell, but she realized that it would be unwise to pursue him any farther.
Returning hastily to the sergeant, she knelt at his side.
“How badly are you hurt, sergeant?” she asked.
“Too badly to go on with the despatches,” he answered, lifting himself on one elbow and jerking a packet from the breast of his blouse. “Ye’re a brave ’un, Miss Dauntless. Here, take the despatches an’ get ’em through.”