Bob Hampton of Placer | Page 6

if worse came to worst
she must never be permitted to fall alive into the hands of the lustful
Sioux, Mr. Hampton had scarcely so much as noted her presence. Of
late years he had not felt greatly interested in the sex, and his
inclination, since uniting his shattered fortunes with this little company,
had been to avoid coming into personal contact with this particular
specimen. Practically, therefore, he now observed her for the first time.
Previously she had passed within range of his vision simply as the
merest shadow; now she began to appeal faintly to him as a personality,
uninteresting enough, of course, yet a living human being, whom it had
oddly become his manifest duty to succor and protect. The never
wholly eradicated instincts of one born and bred a gentleman, although
heavily overlaid by the habits acquired in many a rough year passed
along the border, brought vividly before him the requirements of the
situation. Undoubtedly death was destined to be the early portion of
them all; nevertheless she deserved every opportunity for life that
remained, and with the ending of hope--well, there are worse fates upon
the frontier than the unexpected plunge of a bullet through a benumbed
brain.
Guided by the unerring instinct of an old Indian fighter, Gillis, during
that first mad retreat, had discovered temporary shelter behind one of
the largest bowlders. It was a trifle in advance of those later rolled into
position by the soldiers, but was of a size and shape which should have
afforded ample protection for two, and doubtless would have done so
had it not been for the firing from the cliff opposite. Even then it was a
deflected bullet, glancing from off the polished surface of the rock,
which found lodgment in the sturdy old fighter's brain. The girl had
caught him as he fell, had wasted all her treasured store of water in a
vain effort to cleanse the blood from his features, and now sat there,
pillowing his head upon her knee, although the old man was stone dead
with the first touch of the ball. That had occurred fully an hour before,
but she continued in the same posture, a grave, pathetic figure, her face
sobered and careworn beyond her years, her eyes dry and staring, one

brown hand grasping unconsciously the old man's useless rifle. She
would scarcely have been esteemed attractive even under much happier
circumstances and assisted by dress, yet there was something in the
independent poise of her head, the steady fixedness of her posture,
which served to interest Hampton as he now watched her curiously.
"Fighting blood," he muttered admiringly to himself. "Might fail to
develop into very much of a society belle, but likely to prove valuable
out here."
She was rather a slender slip of a thing, a trifle too tall for her years,
perhaps, yet with no lack of development apparent in the slim, rounded
figure. Her coarse home-made dress of dark calico fitted her sadly,
while her rumpled hair, from which the broad-brimmed hat had fallen,
possessed a reddish copper tinge where it was touched by the sun. Mr.
Hampton's survey did not increase his desire for more intimate
acquaintanceship, yet he recognized anew her undoubted claim upon
him.
"Suppose I might just as well drop out that way as any other," he
reflected, thoughtfully. "It's all in the game."
Lying flat upon his stomach, both arms extended, he slowly forced
himself beyond his bowlder into the open. There was no great distance
to be traversed, and a considerable portion of the way was somewhat
protected by low bushes. Hampton took few chances of those spying
eyes above, never uplifting his head the smallest fraction of an inch, but
reaching forward with blindly groping hands, caught hold upon any
projecting root or stone which enabled him to drag his body an inch
farther. Twice they fired directly down at him from the opposite
summit, and once a fleck of sharp rock, chipped by a glancing bullet,
embedded itself in his cheek, dyeing the whole side of his face crimson.
But not once did he pause or glance aside; nor did the girl look up from
the imploring face of her dead. As he crept silently in, sheltering
himself next to the body of the dead man, she perceived his presence
for the first time, and shrank back as if in dread.
"What are you doing? Why--why did you come here?" she questioned,

a falter in her voice; and he noticed that her eyes were dark and large,
yielding a marked impress of beauty to her face.
"I was unwilling to leave you here alone," he answered, quietly, "and
hope to discover some means for getting you safely back beside the
others."
"But I didn't want