“I remained for that,” she confessed softly, her lashes wet.

“At Dodge?”

“Yes, at Dodge.  I knew you would come, must come.  Some intuition seemed to tell me that we should meet again.  Oh, I was so happy the night you came!  No one had told me your troop had been ordered in.  It was like a dream come true.  When I saw you leading your horse across the parade I could hardly refrain from calling out to you before them all.  I did not care what they thought—­for my soldier had come home from the wars.”

“Sweetheart,” the deep voice faltering, “may—­may I kiss you?”

“Of course you may.”

Their lips met, and she clung to him, as his arms held her closely.  It was like a dream to him, this sudden, unexpected surrender.  Perhaps she read this in his eyes.

“Do not misunderstand,” she urged softly.  “I do not come to you because of what has happened, because I am alone and helpless.  If you had stepped from the ranks that night at Dodge, I would have answered even as I do now.”

“You love me?—­love me?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Even as he looked down into her upturned face, there was borne back upon him a realization of their predicament.  His eyes swept over the surrounding desolation, the two dead bodies lying motionless in the snow, the stiffening pony, the drear hillside which shut them in.  The sight brought him back to consciousness with a shock.  Minutes might mean much now.  Dupont had disappeared over that ridge to the right, in the direction of Black Kettle’s camp.  How far away that might be was altogether guess-work, yet what would inevitably occur when the fugitive arrived among his friends, and told his story, could be clearly conceived.  Even if the man believed Hamlin killed, he would recall to mind the girl, and would return to assure himself as to her fate.  Knowing her helplessness, the practical impossibility of her escape alone, a return expedition might not be hurried, yet, beyond doubt, this isolated valley would have Indian visitors within a few hours.  And when these discovered the truth they would be hot upon a trail where concealment was impossible.  The only hope of escape, and that far from brilliant,—­as he remembered the long desert ride from the distant cow-camp on the Cimarron,—­lay in immediate departure.  Every moment of delay served to increase their peril.  Even beyond the danger of Dupont’s report to Black Kettle, this snow-bound valley was not so far away from that chief’s camp as to be safe from invasion by young warriors in search of game.  All this flashed upon Hamlin’s consciousness instantly, even as his heart thrilled to her frank avowal.

“This is so strange I can hardly realize the truth,” he said gravely.  “But, dear one, we must talk elsewhere, and not here.  Life was never before worth so much as it is now, and every instant we waste here may mean capture and death.  Come, there are two ponies at the mouth of the valley.”