“It’s too bad!” she sobbed. “I am so sorry!”
John Swiftwing said not another word, but, turning his face toward the mountains, walked swiftly away. Not once did he turn about and look back.
Frank and Inza rode to meet the white men, who were seen in the distance, coming madly along the trail. When they had traveled for a time they turned to look for John Swiftwing.
He was near the foot of the mountains, and, as they looked, he was swallowed from view by the deep shadows at the base of the Taos Range.
“Oh, Frank, it was noble of him, after all,” said Inza, half tearfully. “But—but I hope we don’t meet again.”
“It is not likely,” returned Frank.
“And, Frank——”
“Well?”
“Can you forgive me?”
“Willingly,” he cried, and gave her a gentle hug that meant a great deal.