"But I want you to go because—well, because you trust me," he urged, a new trace of tenderness in his lowered voice. "Because you know I would give my life to defend you."
He was not sure, but he thought her face was suddenly uplifted, her eyes seeking to see him in the darkness.
"I do," she answered gravely, "you must believe I do; but I have never been in such peril before, in such a situation of horror, and I am all unnerved. There doesn't seem to be anything left me but—to trust you."
"That is good; all I can ask. I know you are all right, but I want you to keep your nerve. We are going to take a big chance; we 've got to do it—a single misplay, a slip of the foot, an incautious breath may cost our lives."
"Are you going to try to get away? To elude the Indians?"
"Yes, and there is but one possibility of success—to creep the length of the gully there, and so reach the river. Here is Gonzales' belt. Don't be afraid of it; it is not dead men who are going to hurt us. Swing the strap over your shoulder this way, and slip the revolver into the holster. That's right; we'll carry as little as we can, and leave our hands free." He hesitated, staring about in the darkness, swiftly deciding what to take. "Do you happen to know if either of the passengers carried any grub?"
"Grub?"
"Plains' term for food," impatiently, "rations; something for lunch en route."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Moylan did; said he never took chances on having to go hungry. It was in a flat leather pouch."
"Haversack. I have it. That will be enough to carry, with the canteen. Now there is only one thing more before we leave. We must impress those fellows with the notion that we are wide-awake, and on guard yet. See any movement out there?"