So shall those who come after you know how to praise and where to pity our little rosy pigeon of the forest. No rash young warrior of my own people, bound to the stake itself can boast of greater bravery than this. And you, blood-brother to a Siwanois, shall witness what I say.”

After a silence I said: “They must have passed Wyoming already. At this hour our little Lois may be secure under the guns of Easton. Do you not think so, Mayaro?”

As he made no answer, I glanced around at him and found him staring fixedly at the trail below us.

“What do you see on our back-trail?” I whispered.

“A man, Loskiel — if it be not a deer.”

A moment and