CHAPTER XXXIII
FRIENDS IN NEED
Because of the moonlight she did not heed the graying of the east. But the whinnying of the picketed horses roused her from the apathy of misery into which she had sunk. She stood up and looked along the ridge. A small roundish object appeared above the crest––then others. They rose quickly––the heads of riders spurring their horses up the far side of the ridge.
Singly, in pairs, in groups, the rescuers burst up into view and came loping down to her, shouting and waving. In the lead rode her father and the sheriff; in the midst Genevieve, between two attendant young punchers. In all, there were nearly two dozen eager, resolute men, everyone an admiring friend of Miss Chuckie, everyone zealous to serve her and hers.
The girl stood waiting beside the fire. She had tried to run to meet them and found that she could not move. The suddenness of their coming after all that fearful night of waiting seemed to numb her limbs.
They rushed down upon her, waving, shouting questions. Her father, on Rocket, was the first to reach 375 her. He sprang off and ran to put his arm about her quivering shoulders.
“Honey! it’s all right now!” he assured her. “We’re here with everything that’s needed. We’ll soon yank him up out of that hole!”
The baby, frightened by the rush and tumult of the off-leaping riders, began to scream. Someone took him from the girl’s arms and handed him to his mother as she was lifted down out of her saddle. Isobel pressed her face against her father’s sweaty breast.
“Hold on, Miss Chuckie!” sang out one of the men. “Don’t let go yet. Where’s Gowan––Kid Gowan?”