“My God,” he thought, “did those devils get her?”

He lifted her slight figure up on one arm, all else blotted out, all other memory vanished through this instant dread.  His cheek stung where flying splinters had struck him, but that was nothing.  She was warm, her flesh was warm; then his searching fingers felt the moist blood trickling down from the edge of her hair.  He let out his breath slowly, the sudden relief almost choking him.  It was bad enough surely, but not what he had first feared, not death.  She had been struck hard—­a flying splinter of wood, perhaps, or a deflected bullet—­her hair matted with blood, yet it was no more than a flesh wound, although leaving her unconscious.  If he hesitated it was but for an instant.  The entire situation recurred to him in a flash; he must change his plans, but dare waste no time.  If they were to escape it must be accomplished now, shadowed by darkness, while those savage watchers were safely beyond sound.  His lean jaws set with fierce determination, and he grimly hitched his belt forward, one sinewy hand fingering the revolver.  He would have to trust to that weapon entirely for defense; he could not carry both the rifle and the girl.

Moving slowly, cautiously, fearful lest some creaking of the old stage might betray his motions to those keen ears below, he backed through the open door.  Once feeling the ground firm beneath his feet, and making sure that both canteen and haversack were secure, he reached back into the darkness, grasping the form of the unconscious girl.  He stood erect with her held securely in his arms, strands of hair blowing against his cheek, listening intently, striving with keen eyes to penetrate the black curtain.  The wind was fortunate, blowing steadily across the flat from the river, and they were surely invisible against the background of the overhanging bluff.  He did not even feel it necessary to crouch low to avoid discovery.  He knew that peril would confront them later, when they ventured out into the open.  How light she seemed, as though he clasped a child.  Bearing her was going to be easier than he had supposed; the excitement yielded him a new measure of strength, yet he went forward very slowly, feeling along, inch by inch, planting his feet with exceeding care.  The earth was hard-packed and would leave little trail; there were no leaves, no dead grass to rustle.  Beyond the protection afforded by the stage he felt the full sweep of the wind and permitted her head to rest lower on one arm so that he could look about more clearly.  She had not even moaned, although he had felt her breath upon his face.  Once he stumbled slightly over some fallen earth, and farther along a foot slipped on a treacherous stone, but the slight noise died unnoticed in the night.  It was farther to the gully than he had supposed; his heart was in his throat fearing he had missed it, half-believing the depression failed to extend to the base of the bluff.  Then his foot, exploring blindly, touched the edge of the bank.  Carefully he laid his burden down, placing his battered campaign hat beneath her head.  He bent over her again, assuring himself that she breathed regularly, and then crept down alone into the shallow ravine.