What now?  Which way should they turn?  He had accomplished all he had planned for himself back there in the coach, but now he became aware of other problems awaiting solution.  In less than an hour it would be daylight; he almost imagined it was lighter already over yonder in the east.  With the first dawn those watchful Indians, creeping cautiously closer, would discover the stage deserted, and would be on their trail.  And they had left a trail easily followed.  Perhaps the hard, dry ground might confuse those savage trackers, but they would scour the open country between bluff and river, and find the dead warrior in the gully.  That would tell the story.  To go west, along the edge of the river, wading in the water, would be useless precaution; such a trick would be suspected at once, and there was no possibility of rescue from that direction.  They might as well walk open-eyed into a trap.  There was but one hope, one opportunity—­to cross the stream before dawn came and hide among those shifting sand-dunes of the opposite shore.  Hamlin thoroughly understood the risk involved, the treacherous nature of the Arkansas, the possibility that both might be sucked down by engulfing quicksand, yet even such a lonely death was preferable to Indian torture.

The girl at his feet stirred and moaned.  In another moment he had filled his hat with water from the river, had lifted her head upon one arm, and using the handkerchief from about his throat, was washing away the blood that matted her hair.  Now that his fingers felt the wound, he realized the force of the blow stunning her, although its outward manifestation was slight.  Her figure trembled in his arms and her eyes opened, gazing up wonderingly at the black outlines of his shadow.  Then she made an effort as though to draw away.

“Lie still a while yet, Miss McDonald,” he said soothingly, “until you regain your strength.”

He heard the quick gasp of her breath, and felt the sudden relaxing of her muscles.

“You!” she exclaimed in undisguised relief at recognition of the voice; “is it really you?  Where are we?  What has happened?”

He told her rapidly, his face bent close, realizing that she was clinging to him again as she had once before back in the stage.  As he ended, she lifted one hand to her wound.

“And I am not really hurt—­not seriously?” her voice bewildered.  “I—­I never realized I had been struck.  And—­and you carried me all that way—­” she shuddered, looking about into the black silence.  “I—­I can hardly comprehend—­yet.  Please explain again; they are back there watching for us still, believing we are in the coach; they will follow our trail as soon as it becomes daylight.  Why—­why, the sky is brighter over in the east already, is n’t it?  What was it you said we must do?”

“Get across the river; once hidden in those sand-dunes over there we ’ll be safe enough.”

“Across the river,” she repeated the words dully, sitting up to stare out toward the water.  Then her head sank into her hands.  “Can we—­can we ever do that?”