I ran with the rest. The smoke for a moment blinded me. I heard the shrill notes of the Indian whistle. I looked before me. The girl had disappeared.
We ran to the spot where she had stood. We heard a rustling in the underwood, a departing footstep. We knew it was she; but guided by an instinct of delicacy, and a knowledge that it would be contrary to the wish of her brother, no one followed her.
We found the fragments of the calabash strewed over the ground. We found the leaden mark upon them. The bullet itself was buried in the bark of the tree, and one of the hunters commenced digging it out with the point of his bowie.
When we turned to go back we saw that the Indian had walked away, and now stood chatting easily and familiarly with Seguin.
As we re-entered the camp-ground I observed Garey stoop and pick up a shining object. It was the gage d’amour, which he carefully readjusted around his neck in its wonted position.
From his look and the manner in which he handled it, it was plain that he now regarded that souvenir with more reverence than ever.