"He went away last night. There was a call from Ga-o-no-geh, a village down the Trail. I think he was tricked."
"Would he——"
Murray stood up, wiping a spot of blood off one of his hands with a laced handkerchief.
"He is gone," he remarked impartially. "'Twas no more than to be expected. A man can not mix politics with women—especially uncivilized women."
"Give a look to the Indian girl," I urged.
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was not worth while; but Marjory stooped over Ga-ha-no, composed the disordered black tresses and closed the wildly staring eyes.
"'Tis useless, Harry," she said. "She is dead."
"Ga-ha-no—is—dead!" repeated Ta-wan-ne-ars blankly.
His heaving muscles relaxed, and he hung limp in his bonds against the stake.
"At the least, the woman gave you an avenue of escape from an intricate problem," commented Murray. "You do not seem glad, my dear."