“Yes, he’s gone,” he said, in a low tone, rising to his feet. “The bullet passed near his heart.”
Marion disengaged her hand from the tight clasp of the trapper, and with earnest sorrow for the life gone so suddenly, withdrew from the room.
Vic came up, brushing his rough hand across his eyes, as if ashamed of his emotion.
“He is gone,” he said, with a glance at his peaceful face, “an’ a braver man never lived.”
The baffled Indians had withdrawn, fearing pursuit by the garrison.
Much to the surprise and pleasure of the party, they found at the fort a party from the Willamette River Mission, on their way to the States, with whom they might travel in company.
They remained at Fort Laramie over one day. Wild Nat was buried near the fort, and a rude slab to mark the place was erected by Kent and Vic. It was with sincere grief that they mourned the rough but kindly friend who had been with them through so many perils, and gave his life for their safety.
CHAPTER XII.
CONCLUSION.
Pass over two years, and come with me to a beautiful country-place, a short distance from Cincinnati, Ohio.
In the midst of a lovely garden stands a fine white house, whose shady piazza is overrun with climbing roses and scarlet creepers. Large trees throw their cool shadows over the roof and furnish homes for numberless birds.