Then, when the Indian had succeeded in dragging her to the very verge of the rocky den, a strange light burst suddenly upon their eyes, and he drew her to him, and grasping her throat, almost strangled her in his efforts to keep her silent. A light flashed upon them—the report of a rifle was heard, and, with a mighty groan the treacherous Indian sunk backward to the ground.
A rush through the bushes was heard—a little party of white hunters who were out 'shining deer,' appeared upon the scene, and one exclaimed triumphantly:
"Buck or doe, my boys, it was my shot."
"Great Heaven!" replied the one who carried the torch; "you have killed an Indian!"
"An Indian? You must be mad."
"Look for yourself."
"God forgive me, it is true. I would have sworn it was the eyes of a deer I shot at."
"You are not the first man who has been deceived in the same way. But, what shall we do with the poor devil? It won't answer to have this known. Hark! What sound is that? A rattlesnake den as I am a sinner! Here is the opening. In with him, men."
It was soon done. Though he was already dead, his body found the same resting place he would have given her living one, and that portion of the party who had promised to assist the renegade Parsons (and were waiting for him) hastily decamped.
Of the Burning Cloud they knew nothing. The instant the iron hand unclasped from her throat she had skulked into the bushes and darted swiftly away.