She stopped and glanced half shyly. 'Go on,' he said.
'In the summer we do not need to see it. Then everything is alive and happy. But in the dreary winter the Spirit shows itself to our eyes. Then we may know the higher life stirs within us, though the world is dead. Shall I tell you any more?'
She stood like the child repeating a well-known lesson. Her fingers twisted within his, and she lowered her eyes. He passed his arm round the slight figure, and drew her from the shadow of the death tree.
'It is gloomy here; let us go out to the sunshine.'
'Then I must go. I have to bring the old Chief to mourn at the grave.' Her manner changed quickly as she continued, 'I don't think you believe in me.'
He laughed outright. 'Have I said so? Don't you think I would keep any promise I made you?'
They stopped in the dimly-marked forest trail, and he drew her to him. She looked up quickly, sighed, then passed her right arm impulsively across to his shoulder. Her long hair, floating unbound, caressed the hand that held her waist. 'Yes,' she faltered, with a strange little laugh, 'for you are brave.'
The light darted into her lustrous eyes, and her small mouth twitched. He placed his hand beneath her chin and raised her graceful head as he bent his own down. Her quick breathing fanned his face. 'Your promise,' he whispered. Then the sunlight disappeared.
Later, a strange procession started from the fort. Winton's body lay uncovered on resinous pine branches, the ends of which were sustained by the shoulders of McAuliffe and the half-breed. At a short distance behind walked Lamont, smoking carelessly.