Kenton turned his head aside to brush away a tear. He had seen many a death-scene, but none like this.
Again the dying man raised his head. A soft light now gleamed in his blood-shot eyes.
“I see you,” and he extended his hand feebly toward the thicket. Kenton and Boone looked in amazement, but they beheld nothing. The sight was visible to the eyes of the stricken man, alone.
“See, she beckons me to come—no more blood, but peace—peace and love eternal. I will come—see! she is there amid the cloud, I come—wait.”
With a stifled gasp his head sunk back.
Boone could not repress a shudder, for he felt that he held a corpse in his arms.
No more would the Wolf Demon carry terror to the hearts of the Shawnee warriors.
With their hunting-knives the two scouts scooped a shallow grave beneath the boughs of the hollow oak, and there, by the pale light of the dying moon, they placed the mortal remains of Abe Lark, the terrible Wolf Demon, the white husband of the Indian girl—Ke-ne-ha-ha’s daughter—“The Red Arrow.”
The blood on Lark’s cap was easily accounted for by the woodmen when they noticed a slight wound on the forehead of the body, made by some bramble in the madman’s rapid flight through the forest.