The Indians did nothing to molest them, but made hurried preparations to steal away as they had planned. Silently the dusky forms glided here and there among the tepees; then group after group disappeared along the trail to the eastward until all were gone but Flying Arrow and half a dozen young braves.
When morning broke to light the scene, Bud Nixon still lay where he had fallen, and by his side the Indian girl whom he had wronged sat in silent sorrow.
“Come, sister,” said the young chief in gentle Indian tongue, “I’ll take care of you.” He raised her tenderly and led her away, while other Indians, lifting up her White Chief’s body, carried it along the canyon trail; another brave followed these, leading Ankanamp’s horse.
They buried him in a crevice among the lava rocks. Over this rough grave they piled stones and sticks to keep bird or beast from molesting it. His horse they killed and buried by him, that he might have something to carry him to the Happy Hunting Grounds. The sorrow-stricken girl begged to be killed too, but they forced her to leave with them.
This done, Flying Arrow returned to take a parting look at his old friend. He gazed in silence for a moment. Then turning to Fred and Alta he said,
“Now go, get friends, carry Long Beard home. Injun no hurt you any more. Good-by.”
“Good-by, brave!” responded Alta with feeling.
“Good-by,” said Fred, reaching out his hand; “we’ll not forget your kindness.”
The young chief took the proffered hand, turned quickly, sprang upon his horse and disappeared along the trail through the pines. He was hardly out of sight when hoof beats were heard down the canyon, and a few moments later Colonel Morgan with Cap Hanks, Dan, Jim, Pat and several other ranchers came upon the scene.
The Colonel leaped from his horse to take his “little squirrel” in his arms, and to hold her there while they listened to Fred’s sad story.