"Because," Valentine replied, in a mournful voice, "We must pay the last duties to his victim."
The general bowed, and an hour later the hunters placed Doña Clara's body in the ground. Don Miguel, supported by the general and his son, wept over the grave which contained his child.
When the Indian Chief had filled up the hole, and rolled onto it rocks, lest it might be profaned by wild beasts, Valentine seized his friend's hand, and pressed it forcibly.
"Don Miguel," he said to him, "women weep, men avenge themselves."
"Oh, yes!" the hacendero cried, with savage energy; "Vengeance! Vengeance!"
But, alas! This cry, uttered over a scarce-closed tomb, died out without an echo. Red Cedar and his companions had disappeared in the inextricable windings of the desert. Many days must yet elapse before the so greatly desired hour of vengeance arrived, for God, whose designs are inscrutable, had not yet said Enough!
[The further adventures of the hunters and the fate of Red Cedar have yet to be described, in the last volume of this series, entitled "THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER," which will speedily appear.]