“Why can’t you find some one who will try to get through to the troops? I mean the headquarters?”
Seth shook his head.
“Can’t spare a single man,” he said conclusively. “I ’lows no white folk ’ud get through anyways. An’ we ain’t got an Injun, an’ if we had I wouldn’t trust him no more’n I’d trust a ’rattler.’ No, Rosie, gal, we’ve got to fight this out on our own. An’ make no sort o’ mistake we’re goin’ to fight good an’ hard. I’ve figgered to hold this place fer two weeks an’ more. That’s how I’ve figgered.”
It was the final repetition which filled Rosebud with misgivings. She realized the man’s doubt. Suddenly she slipped a hand through his arm, and it gently closed over one of his. Her soft eyes were raised to his face as she put another question in a low tone.
“And if we go under, Seth?”
The man moved uneasily, but the little hand retained its hold of his.
“What then?”
Seth cleared his throat, but remained silent.
“What then?” the girl persisted.
“Don’t ask me.”