But soon the stage was put back on its wheels again, and the guide
called to her to come down.
This was a slow and painful operation, during which the driver swore
impatiently at the delay. But she accomplished it, and crawled into the
stage and sank down on the pallet which had been made for her with the
seat cushions.
Now they were off again, faster than before, and with correspondingly
more discomfort to Stella. Oh, if the journey would only end, she
thought.
"Here we are," she heard the guide's voice in a shout.
The stage stopped, and Stella heard a rush of feet.
"Got her?" some one demanded gruffly.
"Yep, but she's all in," replied the guide. "Her forehead was creased by
a bullet, an' the trip has about finished her."
"Can't help that. Get her out. We've got to be moving. The soldiers are
out to-night."
"What's the matter?"
"Injuns.".
"Uprisin'?"
"Not yet, but the agent over to Fort Sill has a tip that they are
putting on paint."
"What's the trouble?"
"Somethin' about beef issue.
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