“Yes, me no let Injun hurt ’em—me take care of ’em.”
“There—I—feel—better. Now—we’ll camp—over—there—be quiet—Tobe—go to—sleep.”
His last words were scarcely audible. His weary head fell back, the gentle, gray eyes closed, and the old mountaineer rested in peace at the end of the long trail.
Fred and Alta sat for a few moments half dazed; then suddenly realizing that he had gone, Alta broke under the strain and sorrow into wild expressions of her grief.
“Oh, Fred!” she cried, “he’s dead—he’s given his life to save me. How can I ever bear to think what my troubles have cost him?”
“There, don’t blame yourself, dear,” said Fred, taking her in his arms. “It was a sweet sacrifice for him, Alta; he loved you.”
“I loved him, too,” she sobbed; “and I love you, for being so brave and good to me.”
“Alta, do you really mean it?” He drew her close to his throbbing heart.
“Mean it, Fred? why I have always loved you, only I never knew how much till now.”
“Sweetheart!” he raised her troubled face to his. The rest was told in their sweet first kiss. Thoughts of danger and death were momentarily swept aside by the rush of joy that filled their hearts. Out of pain and suffering, their love had suddenly leaped into glad life. They had found each other. A new strength had come to their blended souls; and with it came a sweet comfort, as they sat there hand in hand through the stillness, keeping watch over their old friend, endeared to them now by memories that could never die.