Two troopers left their saddles, and the third man, the one answering the last hail, gathered the reins in one hand, and spurred his horse confidently into the brown water. Following the Sergeant's shouted directions, the three animals plunged forward and came dripping up the low sand bank. The rider, a sallow-faced man clad in rough corduroy, patched and colorless, leaned over and held out his hand.
"Dern yer o' skin," he said solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes, "ye 're sure got the luck of it. Ain't seen ye afore fer two years."
"That 's right, Sam; down on the Cowskin, wasn't it? Who 's over there?"
"Leftenant Gaskins, an' some o' the Fourth Cavalry, scoutin' out o' Dodge; been plum to ther mountings, an' goin' home ag'in. Whut the hell (beggin' yer pardin, mam) has happened yere?"
"I 'll explain when we get across," and Hamlin swung the haversack to his shoulder, and turned to the girl. "This is Sam Wasson, Miss McDonald, a scout I have been out with before; let me help you into the saddle."
CHAPTER XII
THE PARTING
They recrossed the stream carefully, the horses restless and hard to control in the current, the men riding on either side, grasping the bit of the girl's mount. Others had joined the little squad of troopers on the bank, and welcomed them with a cheer. The Lieutenant dismounted. At sight of the girl's face he whipped off his hat, and came forward.
"Miss McDonald," he said, pleasantly greeting her, "I am Lieutenant Gaskins, and I have met your father—of the Sixth Infantry, is he not? So glad to be of service, you know. You were in the stage, I understand; a most remarkable escape."