The stage-coach!she marveled,coming toward him.Oh,Wilfred,I see now what's happened.One of the horses dropped dead,and Red Kimball and his men jumped on the other three....But I wonder what became of the driver?
Get inside!he ordered.Thank God,we've found SOMETHING that we can get inside of.That'll shelter us till morning,anyway,and then we can determine what's to be done.
Once in the coach,they were safe from the wind which howled above and around them,rattling the small windows and making the springs creak.There was no help for the discomfort of soaking garments,but Wilfred lighted a reserve lantern and placed it in a corner,while thick leather cushions and stage-blankets offered some prospect of rest.
As no plans could be formed until morning revealed their real plight,they agreed that all conversation should be foregone in order to recuperate from the hardships of the day for the trials of tomorrow.Lahoma soon fell asleep after her exhausting journey of a day and half a night since leaving the train at Chickasha.
For hours Wilfred sat opposite,staring at her worn face,pathetic in its youthful roundness from which the bloom had vanished,wondering at her grace,beauty,helplessness and perfect faith in him.That faith revealed in every line of the form lying along the seat,and spoke from the unconscious face from which the brown hair was outspread to dry.
How oddly her voice had sounded,how strange had been its accent when she said,It never entered my mind thatI was the little girl!Had she been sorry for the thought to come?Did she think less of him because he had not remained true to Annabel?Would it not have been far better to wait until reaching their destination before hinting of love?Even while perplexed over these problems,and while charmed by that appealing face with the softly parted lips,by the figure that stirred in the rhythm of slumber,other thoughts,other objects weighed upon him--the two dead men,the dead horse just outside.One of those men might be Red Kimball;other bodies might lie there which he had failed to discover.Had the stage been attacked by Indians,or by white desperadoes who found shelter in the Kiowa country?In either case,might not the enemy be hovering about the trail,possibly waiting to descend on the coach?
Armed and watchful,Wilfred waited through the hours.When no longer able to bear the uncertainty,he crept from the stage with the lantern,and examined the recent scene of a furious struggle.There were only two slain--the driver and one of Red Kimball's companions.Either Kimball and his other comrade had escaped,or had been captured.If any of the attacking party had fallen,the bodies had been borne away.Blood-stains indicated that more than two had been shot.From that ghastly sight it was a relief to find himself once more enclosed by the coach walls with Lahoma so peacefully sleeping.
