I again called the girl by her name,
but received no answer. I went in, and with nervous fingers lighted a
match and stooped beside her. Horror-stricken, I saw a stream of blood
threading its way across the earthern floor from her left side. I
shouted for Dr. Coues, and the surgeon hurried in. From his
instrument-case he took a small, portable lamp, and, lighting it, fell
upon his knees beside the prostrate girl.
During the following few moments, while the skilled fingers of the
firm-nerved surgeon were cutting away clothing to expose the nature of
the wound, my thoughts found time to wander to the distant family, on
its way to the fort, and to the boy sergeants there. I thought what a
sad message it would be my province to bear to them, should this dear
relative and cherished friend die by savage hands.
There was little hope that the pretty girl could live. To me she
seemed already claimed by death. She who had made our long and weary
march from Wingate to Whipple so pleasant by her vivacity and
intelligence, and had latterly brightened our occasional visits to
Skull Valley, was to die in this wretched hole.
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