Having no time to halt and reload, the Apaches were springing up the rocky slope, one with a knife in his free hand and the other with a hatchet.
Tumbling out of her saddle, Dell rushed to Patterson’s side, jerking out her revolvers as she ran.
The Indians were within thirty paces of her when she opened fire. One fell, throwing up his arms and tipping backward down the slope; the other--the one with the knife--flung himself behind a boulder.
Dell understood very well what this meant. Screened by the boulder, the Apache intended to reload his rifle and then take his time picking her off with a bullet.
Without a moment’s hesitation the girl charged the boulder, so that the Indian had no time to use powder-horn or bullet-pouch. Forced from cover, he bounded back toward the bushes at the base of the hogback, zigzagging and ducking to avoid the lead sent after him.
Whether she hit the redskin or not Dell could not tell, but she realized that it would be unwise to pursue him any farther.
Returning hastily to the sergeant, she knelt at his side.
“How badly are you hurt, sergeant?” she asked.
“Too badly to go on with the despatches,” he answered, lifting himself on one elbow and jerking a packet from the breast of his blouse. “Ye’re a brave ’un, Miss Dauntless. Here, take the despatches an’ get ’em through.”
“Hang it, girl, can’t ye understand? I’ve got a lead plug in my side, and to take me on will be a bother. Ye can’t do it and land the despatches in Bonita.”
“Despatches or no despatches,” answered the girl, “I’ll not leave you here to be killed.”
“I tell ye to go on!” growled the sergeant fiercely.
“And I tell you I won’t until you go with me. If you want me to get the despatches through, you’ll have to let me help you.”
Already Dell had opened the sergeant’s blouse. The moonlight was brilliant, there on top of the hogback, and she folded the trooper’s cotton handkerchief, laid it over the wound in his right side, then pulled the army belt up until it compressed the handkerchief and held it in place. Next she led up the trooper’s horse.
“I’ll help you to get into the saddle,” said she.
“It’ll be a tough job,” Patterson groaned; “an’ I doubt if we can make it.”
“I can’t keep my saddle after ye get me into it.”