Life was suddenly sweet again,
unutterably full, blazing like the sunrise. He was there--somewhere
to the eastward.
She waited. The caravan was miles away. But it was no mirage, no
trick of the wide plain! She watched. If the hours of night had been
long, what were these hours of day with life and the chance of
happiness ever advancing?
At last she saw the scouts riding in front and alongside, and the
plodding oxen. It was a large caravan, well equipped for defense.
She left the little rise of ground and made for the trail. How
uneven the walking! She staggered. Her legs were weak. But she
gained the trail and stood there. She waved. They were not so far
away. Surely she would be seen. She staggered on--waved again.
There! The leading scout had halted. He pointed. Other riders
crowded around him. The caravan came to a stop.
Allie heard voices. She waved her arms and tried to run. A scout
dismounted, advanced to meet her, rifle ready. The caravan feared a
Sioux trick. Allie described a lean, gray old man; now he was
rapidly striding toward her.
"It's a white gal!" she heard him shout.
Others ran forward as she staggered to meet them.
"I'm alone--I'm--lost!" she faltered.
"A white gal in Injun dress," said another.
And then kind hands were outstretched to her.
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