For an instant he must have deemed the vision confronting him some illusion of the desert, for he never stirred except to rub a gloved hand across his eyes.
"By all the gods, Dupont," roared the Sergeant impatiently, "do you want me to shoot?
Damn you, throw up your hands!" Slowly, as though his mind was still in a dream, the man's hands were lifted above his head, one grasping a short, sawed-off gun.

The expression upon his face was ugly, as he began to dimly understand what this unexpected hold-up meant.

There followed an instant of silence, in which Hamlin, forgetful of Hughes, who still remained lying quiet in the snow, took a step or two forward, rifle at shoulder.

The two Indians, swathed in blankets, but with arms upraised, were in direct line, motionless as statues.

He could see the gleam of their dark eyes, and even noticed the figure of the girl straighten in the saddle.
Dupont gave fierce utterance to an oath.