“But won’t those others come back when they discover we have not gone up the river?”

“I wish I could answer that,” he replied earnestly.  “But it all depends on what those devils know of the whereabouts of troops.  They are Northern Indians, and must have broken through the scouting details sent out from Wallace and Dodge.  Some of the boys are bound to be after them, and there is more chance for them to get back safely along the mountains than in the other direction.  I don’t suppose an Indian in the bunch was ever south of the Arkansas.  Wait!  Those fellows are going to move now; going for good, too—­they are taking the dead Indians with them.”

They were little more than black dots at that distance, yet the sun was up by this time and his keen vision could distinguish every movement.

“Creep up here, and you can see also,” he said quietly.  “They are far enough away now so that it is safe.”

There was a moment of breathless quiet, the two fugitives peering cautiously over the sand ridge.  To the girl it was a confusion of figures rushing back and forth about the smoking ruins of the stage; occasionally a faint yell echoed across the river, and she could distinguish a savage on his pony gesticulating as he rode back and forth.  But the Sergeant comprehended the scene.  His eyes met hers and read her bewilderment.

“They are going all right, and in a hurry.  It’s plain enough they are afraid to stay there any longer.  See, they are lashing bodies on to the ponies.  Ah, that is what I wanted to be sure about—­that fellow is heading west on the trail; now the others are moving.”

“Then you are sure Roman Nose will not return?  That—­that we are safe?”

“Yes; I would n’t hesitate to go back as soon as the last of them disappear over the ridge,” pointing up the river.  “They knew they had to go that way; Roman Nose and his band hoped we ’d taken that direction, and hurried on ahead to catch us if he could.  They are afraid to stay about here any longer.  Look how they are lashing those ponies; there, the last of them are leaving.”

They lay there in the sand, already becoming warm, under the rays of the sun, trying to assure themselves that all danger of discovery had vanished.  There was no movement on the opposite shore, only the blue spiral of smoke curling up against the bluff, marking where the stage had stood.  About this, outlined upon the brown grass, appeared darker patches representing dead ponies and the bodies of Moylan and Gonzales where they had been tumbled, scalped and otherwise mutilated.  Down by the river a wounded pony tried to follow the disappearing cavalcade, but fell, giving vent to one scream of agony.  Then all was silent, motionless, the last straggler clubbing his horse pitilessly as he vanished over the ridge.

Hamlin sat up, his eyes smiling.

“We are the lucky ones, Miss McDonald,” he said, his manner unconsciously more formal now that the danger had passed and a swift realization of who his companion was recurring to his mind.  “Something must have frightened them.”  He shaded his eyes, staring at the bluffs opposite, “But there is nothing in sight from here.  Well, the best thing we can do is to eat breakfast.  May I have the haversack, and see what it is stocked with?”