“A friend in need, Patterson!” she cried.
The sergeant’s head was hanging forward. He heard Dell’s words, and made a response, but his voice was too low and mumbling for the girl to understand what he said.
The Apache on his knees had straightened out along the rocky slope. An instant later a form came bounding up out of the shadows, paused at the Apache’s side an instant, then came on to Dell and the sergeant.
Dell’s amazement increased as the newcomer came more and more into the light of the hogback’s crest.
He was not a white man, but an Indian—a slender, lithely built boy, bare to the waist, his nether limbs clad in buckskins and moccasins. An eagle-feather ornamented his scalp-lock, and he carried a small repeating rifle.
“Ugh!” he exclaimed, halting close to Dell. “Yellow Hair, Pa-e-has-ka’s girl-pard!”
“Little Cayuse!” cried Dell, her surprise and delight throbbing in her voice.
A moment more and she was down from her saddle and had caught the little Piute in a swift embrace.
Little Cayuse deemed it derogatory to the pride of a warrior to let himself be betrayed into any show of affection. His feelings the boy tried strenuously to keep in check at all times. And, as he frowned upon any display of feelings by himself, he looked askance at it in others.