“Those moans I heard must have been her last dying breaths,” he said.
“Mebbe. But she shore doesn’t look daid to me,” replied King. “I’ve seen daid people. Put your hand on her heart.”
Neale had been feeling for heart pulsations on her right side. He shifted his hand. Instantly through the soft swell of her breast throbbed a beat-beat-beat. The beatings were regular and not at all faint.
“Good Lord, what a fool I am!” he cried. “She’s alive! Her heart’s going! There’s not a wound on her!”
“Wal, we can’t see any, thet’s sure,” replied Slingerland.
“She might hev a fatal hurt, all the same,” suggested King.
“No!” exclaimed Neale. “That blood’s from some one else—most likely her murdered mother.... Red, run for some water. Fetch it in your hat. Slingerland, ride after the troops.”
Slingerland rose and mounted his horse. “Wal, I’ve an idee. Let’s take the girl to my cabin. Thet’s not fur from hyar. It’s a long ride to the camp. An’ if she needs the troop doctor we can fetch him to my place.”
“But the Sioux?”
“Wal, she’d be safer with me. The Injuns an’ me are friends.”