That evening, as the dusk fell, a slight figure in an Indian dress slipped to the low brush back of the cabin, and thence to the uplands.

It was ’Tana, ready to endure all the wilds of the woods, rather than stay there and meet again the man she had met the night before. She had sent the squaw away; she had arranged in Mrs. Huzzard’s tent a little game of cards that would hold the attention of Lyster and the others; and then she had slipped away, that she might, for just once more, feel free on the mountain, as she had felt when they first located their camp in the sweet grass of the Twin Springs.

The moon would be up after a while. She could not walk far, but she meant to sit somewhere up there in the high ground until the moon should roll up over the far mountains.

The mere wearing of the Indian dress gave her a feeling of being herself once more, for in the pretty conventional dress made for her by Mrs. Huzzard, she felt like another girl—a girl she did not know very well.

In the southwest long streaks of red and yellow lay across the sky, and a clear radiance filled the air, as it does when a new moon is born after the darkness. She felt the beauty of it all, and stretched out her arms as though to draw the peaks of the hills to her. 279

But, as she stepped forward, a form arose before her—a tall, decided form, and a decided voice said:

“No, ’Tana, you have gone far enough.”

“Dan!”

“Yes—it is Dan this time, and not the other fellow. If he is waiting for you to-night, I will see that he waits a long time.”

“You—you!” she murmured, and stepped back from him. Then, her first fright over, she straightened herself defiantly.

“Why do you think any one is waiting for me?” she demanded. “What do you know? I am heartsick with all this hiding, and—and deceit. If you know the truth, speak out, and end it all!”

“I can’t say any more than you know already,” he answered—“not so much; but last night a man was in your cabin, a man you know and quarreled with. I didn’t hear you; don’t think I was spying on you. A miner who passed the cabin heard your voices and told me something was wrong. You don’t give me any right to advise you or dictate to you, ’Tana, but one thing you shall not do, that is, steal to the woods to meet him. And if I find him in your cabin, I promise you he sha’n’t die of old age.”

“You would kill him?”

“Like a snake!” and his voice was harsher, colder, than she had ever heard it. “I’m not asking you any questions, ’Tana. I know it was the man whom you—saw that night at the spring, and would not let me follow. I know there is something wrong, or he would come to see you, like a man, in daylight. If the others here knew it, they would say things not kind to you. And that is why it sha’n’t go on.” 280

“Sha’n’t? What right have you—to—to—”

“You will say none,” he answered, curtly, “because you do not know.”

“Do not know what?” she interrupted, but he only drew a deep breath and shook his head.

“Tana, don’t meet this man again,” he said, pleadingly. “Trust me to judge for you. I don’t want to be harsh with you. I don’t want you to go away with hard thoughts against me. But this has got to stop—you must promise me.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’d look for the man, and he never would meet you again.”

A little shiver ran over her as he spoke. She knew what he meant, and, despite her bitter words last night to her visitor, the thought was horrible to her that Dan—

She covered her face with her hands and turned away.

“Don’t do that, little girl,” he said, and laid his hand on her arm. “’Tana!”

She flung off his hand as though it stung her, and into her mind flashed remembrance of Jake Emmons from Spokane—of him and his words.

“Don’t touch me!” she half sobbed. “Don’t you say another word to me! I am going away to-morrow, and I have promised to marry Max Lyster.”

His hand dropped to his side, and his face shone white in the wan glimmer of the stars.

“You have promised that?” he said, at last, drawing his breath hard through his shut teeth. “Well—it is right, I suppose—right. Come! I will take you back to him now. He is the best one to guard you. Come!”

She drew away and looked from him across to where the merest rim of the rising moon was to be seen across 281 the hills. The thought of that other night came to her, the night when they had stood close to each other in the moonlight. How happy she had been for that one little space of time! And now—Ah! she scarcely dare allow him to speak kindly to her, lest she grow weak enough to long for that blind content once more.

“Come, Tana.”

“Go. I will follow after a little,” she answered, without turning her head.

“I may never trouble you to walk with you again,” he said, in a low, constrained tone; “but this time I must see you safe in the tent before I leave.”

“Leave! Going! Where to?” she asked, and her voice trembled in spite of herself. She clasped her hands tightly, and he could see the flash of the ring he had given her. She had put it on with the Indian dress.

“That does not matter much, does it?” he returned; “but somewhere, far enough up the lake not to trouble you again while you stay. Come.”

She walked beside him without another word; words seemed so useless. She had said words over and over again to herself all that day—words of his wrong to her in not telling her of that other woman, words of reproach, bitter and keen; yet none of her reasoning kept her from wanting to touch his hand as he walked beside her.

But she did not. Even when they reached the level by the springs, she only looked her farewell to him, but did not speak.

“Good-by,” he said, in a voice that was not like Dan’s voice.

She merely bowed her head, and walked away toward the tent where she heard Mrs. Huzzard laughing. 282

She halted near the cabin, and then hurried on, dreading to enter it yet, lest she should meet the man she was trying to avoid.

Overton watched her until she reached the tent. The moon had just escaped the horizon, and threw its soft misty light over all the place. He pulled his hat low over his eyes, and, turning, took the opposite direction.

Only a few minutes elapsed when Lyster remembered he had promised Dan to look after Harris, and rose to go to the cabin.

“I will go, too,” said ’Tana, filled with nervous dread lest he encounter some one on her threshold, though she had all reason to expect that her disguised visitor had come and gone ere that.

“Well, well, ’Tana, you are a restless mortal,” said Mrs. Huzzard. “You’ve only just come, and now you must be off again. What did you do that you wanted to be all alone for this evening? Read verses, I’ll go bail.”

“No, I didn’t read verses,” answered ’Tana. “But you needn’t go along to the cabin.”

“Well, I will then. You are not fit to sleep alone. And, if it wasn’t for the beastly snakes!—”

“We will go and see Harris,” said the girl, and so they entered his cabin, where he sat alone with a bright light burning.

Some newspapers, brought by the captain, were spread before him on a rough reading stand rigged up by one of the miners.

He looked pale and tired, as though the effort of perusing them had been rather too much for him.

Listen as she might, the girl could hear never a sound from her own cabin. She stood by the blanket door, 283 connecting the two rooms, but not a breath came to her. She sighed with relief at the certainty that he had come and gone. She would never see him again.

“Shall I light your lamp?” asked Lyster; and, scarce waiting for a reply, he drew back the blanket and entered the darkness of the other cabin.

Two of the miners came to the door just then, detailed to look after Harris for the night. One was the good-natured, talkative Emmons.

“Glad to see you are so much better, miss,” he said, with an expansive smile. “But you scared the wits nearly out of me this morning.”

Then they heard the sputter of a match in the next room, and a sharp, startled cry from Lyster, as the blaze gave a feeble light to the interior.

He staggered back among the rest, with the dying match in his fingers, and his face ashen gray.

“Snakes!” half screamed Mrs. Huzzard. “Oh, my! oh, my!”

’Tana, after one look at Lyster, tried to enter the room, but he caught and held her.

“Don’t, dear!—don’t go in there! It’s awful—awful!”

“What’s wrong?” demanded one of the miners, and picked up a lamp from beside Harris.

“Look! It is Akkomi!” answered Lyster.

At the name ’Tana broke from him and ran into the room, even before the light reached it.

But she did not take many steps. Her foot struck against something on the floor, an immovable body and a silent one.

“Akkomi—sure enough,” said the miner, as he saw the Indian’s blanket. “Drunk, I suppose—Indian fashion.” 284

But as he held the light closer, he took hold of the girl’s arm, and tried to lead her from the scene.

“You’d better leave this to us, miss,” he added, in a grave tone. “The man ain’t drunk. He’s been murdered!”

’Tana, white as death itself, shook off his grasp and stood with tightly clasped hands, unheeding the words of horror around her, scarce hearing the shriek of Mrs. Huzzard, as that lady, forgetful even of the snakes, sank to the floor, a very picture of terror.

’Tana saw the roll of money scattered over the couch; the little bag of free gold drawn from under the pillow. He had evidently been stooping to secure it when the assassin crept behind him and left him dead there, with a knife sticking between his shoulders.

“The very knife you had to-day!” said Lyster, horror-stricken at the sight.

The miner with the lamp turned and looked at her strangely, and his eyes dropped from her face to her clasped hands, on which the ring of the snakes glittered.

“Your knife?” he asked, and others, attracted by Mrs. Huzzard’s scream, stood around the doors and looked at her too.

She nodded her head, scarce understanding the significance of it, and never taking her eyes from the dead man, whose face was yet hidden.

“He may not be dead,” she said, at last. “Look!”

“Oh, he’s dead, safe enough,” and Emmons lifted his hand. “Was he trying to rob you?”

“I—no—I don’t know,” she answered, vaguely.

Then another man turned the body over, and utter surprise was on every face; for, though it was Akkomi’s blanket, it was a much younger man who lay there. 285

“A white man, by Heavens!” said the miner who had first entered. “A white man, with brown paint on his face and hands! But, look here!” and he pulled down the collar of the dead man’s shirt, and showed a skin fair as a child’s.

“Something terribly crooked here,” he continued. “Where is Overton?”

Overton! At the name her very heart grew cold within her. Had he not threatened he would kill the man who visited her at night? Had he come straight to the cabin after leaving her? Had he kept his word? Had he—

“I think Overton left camp after supper—started for the lake,” answered some one.

“Well, we’ll do our best to get it straight without him, then. Some of you see what time it is. This man has been dead about a half hour. Mr. Lyster, you had better write down all about it; and, if any one here has any information to give, let him have it.”

His eyes were on the girl’s face, but she said nothing, and he bent to wipe off the stain from the dead man’s face. Some one brought water, and in a little while was revealed the decidedly handsome face of a man about forty-five years old.

“Do any of you know him?” asked the miner, who, by circumstance, appeared to have been given the office of speaker—“look—all of you.”

One after another the men approached, but shook their heads; until an old miner, gray-haired and weather-beaten, gave vent to a half-smothered oath at sight of him.

“Know him?” he exclaimed. “Well, I do, though it’s five years since I saw him. Heavens! I’d rather have found him alive than dead, though, for there is a 286 standing reward offered for him by two States. Why, it’s the card-sharper, horse-thief and renegade—Lee Holly!”

“But who could have killed him?”

“That is Overton’s knife,” said one of the men.

“But Overton had not had it since noon,” said ’Tana, speaking for the first time in explanation. “I borrowed it then.”

“You borrowed it? For what?”

“Oh—I forget. To cut a stick with, I think.”

“You think. I’m sorry to speak rough to a lady, miss but this is a time for knowing—not thinking.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Lyster.

The man looked at him squarely.

“Nothing to offend innocent folks,” he answered. “A murder has been done in this lady’s room, with a knife she acknowledges she has had possession of. It’s natural enough to question her first of all.”

The color had crept into her face once more. She knew what the man meant, and knew that the longer they looked on her with suspicion, the more time Overton would have to escape. Then, when they learned they were on a false scent, it would be late—too late to start after him. She wished he had taken the money and the gold. She shuddered as she thought him a murderer—the murderer of that man; but, with what skill she could, she would keep them off his track.

Her thoughts ran fast, and a half smile touched her lips. Even with that dead body at her feet, she was almost happy at the hope of saving him. The others noticed it, and looked at her in wonder. Lyster said:

“You are right. But Miss Rivers could know nothing of this. She has been with us since the moon rose, and that is more than a half-hour.” 287

“No, only fifteen minutes,” said one of the men.

“Well, where were you for the half-hour before the moon rose?” asked the man who seemed examiner. “That is really the time most interesting to this case.”

“Why, good heavens, man!” cried Lyster, but ’Tana interrupted:

“I was walking up on the hill about that time.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

Mrs. Huzzard groaned dismally, and Lyster caught ’Tana by the hand.

“’Tana! think what you are saying. You don’t realize how serious this is.”

“One more question,” and the man looked at her very steadily. “Were you not expecting this man to-night?”

“I sha’n’t answer any more of your questions,” she answered, coldly.

Lyster turned on the man with clenched hands and a face white with anger.

“How dare you insult her with such a question?” he asked, hoarsely. “How could it be possible for Miss Rivers to know this renegade horse-thief?”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said the man, drawing a long breath and looking at the girl. “It ain’t a pleasant thing to do; but as we have no courts up here, we have to straighten out crimes in a camp the best way we can. My name is Saunders. That man over there is right—this is Lee Holly; and I am sure now that I saw him leave this cabin last night. I passed the cabin and heard voices—hers and a man’s. I heard her say: ‘While I can’t quite decide to kill you myself, I hope some one else will.’ The rest of their words were not so clear. I 288 told Overton when he came back, but the man was gone then. You ask me how I dare think she could tell something of this if she chose. Well, I can’t help it. She is wearing a ring I’ll swear I saw Lee Holly wear three years ago, at a card table in Seattle. I’ll swear it! And he is lying here dead in her room, with a knife sticking in him that she had possession of to-day. Now, gentlemen, what do you think of it yourselves?”