She shook her head questioningly.

“I do not know,” she admitted.  “I suppose there are two viewpoints.  You were in the volunteers, you said.  Why did you enlist in the regulars?”

“Largely because I liked soldiering, or thought I did.  I knew there would be plenty of fighting out here, and, I believed, advancement.”

“You mean to a commission?”

“Yes.  You see, I did not understand then the impossibility, the great gulf fixed.  I dreamed that good fortune might give me something to do worth while.”

“And fate has been unkind?”

“In a way, yes,” and he laughed rather grimly.  “I had my chance—­twice; honorable mention, and all that, but that ended it.  There is no bridge across the chasm.  An enlisted man is not held fit for any higher position; if that was not sufficient to bar me, the fact that I had fought for the South would.”

“You were in the Confederate army?  You must have been very young.”

“Oh, no; little more than a boy, of course, but so were the majority of my comrades.  I was in my senior college year when the war broke out.  But, Miss McDonald, this will never do!  See how light it is growing.  There, they have begun firing already.  We must get back out of sight behind the sand-dunes.”

CHAPTER X

THE RIPENING OF ACQUAINTANCE

They needed to retire but a few steps to be entirely concealed, yet so situated as to command a view across the muddy stream.  The sun had not risen above the horizon, but the gray dawn gave misty revealment of the sluggish-flowing river, the brown slope opposite, and the darker shadow of bluffs beyond.  The popping of those distant guns had ceased by the time they attained their new position, and they could distinguish the Indians—­mere black dots against the brown slope—­advancing in a semicircle toward the silent stage.  Evidently they were puzzled, fearful of some trickery, for occasionally a gun would crack viciously, the brown smoke plainly visible, the advancing savages halting to observe the effect.  Then a bright colored blanket was waved aloft as though in signal, and the entire body, converging toward the deserted coach, leaped forward with a wild yell, which echoed faintly across the water.

The girl hid her face in the sand, with a half-stifled sob, but the Sergeant watched grimly, his eyes barely above the ridge.  What would they do when they discovered the dead bodies?—­when they realized that others had eluded their vigilance during the night?  Would they be able to trace them, or would his ruse succeed?  Of course their savage cunning would track them as far as the river—­there was no way in which he could have successfully concealed the trail made down the gully, or the marks left on the sandy bank.  But would they imagine he had dared to cross the broad stream, burdened with the girl, confronting almost certain death in the quicksand?