"My name's Neale," he said. "Can I be of any help?"
He encountered a pair of penetrating gray eyes.
"My name's Slingerland," replied the other, as he offered his hand.
"Are you an officer?"
"No. I'm a surveyor. But I can ride and shoot. I've a cowboy with
me--a Texan. He'll go. What's happened?"
"Wal, I ain't sure yet. But I fear the wust. I got wind of some
Sioux thet was trailin' some prairie-schooners up in the hills. I
warned the boss--told him to break camp an' run. Then I come fer the
troops. But the troops had changed camp an' I jest found them.
Reckon we'll be too late."
"Was it a caravan?" inquired Neale, intensely interested.
"Six wagons. Only a few men. Two wimmen. An' one girl."
"Girl!" exclaimed Neale.
"Yes. I reckon she was about sixteen. A pretty girl with big, soft
eyes. I offered to take her up behind me on my hoss. An' they all
wanted her to come. But she wouldn't.... I hate to think--"
Slingerland did not finish his thought aloud. Just then Larry rode
up, leading Neale's horse. Slingerland eyed the lithe cowboy.
"Howdy!" drawled Larry. He did not seem curious or eager, and his
cool, easy, reckless air was in sharp contrast to Neale's fiery
daring.
"Red, you got the rifles, I see," said Neale.
"Sure, an' I rustled some biscuits.
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