“Savage! approach me not!” she cried in the Comanche tongue, and with a gesture that told her determination.
“Isolina! I am not— It is—”
“Henri!”
No words interrupted that wild embrace; no sound could be heard save that made by our hearts, as they throbbed closely together.
Silently I stood upon the plain with my betrothed in my arms. Moro was by our side, proudly curving his neck and chafing the steel between his foaming lips. At our feet lay the prairie-horse with the barb in his vitals, and the feathered shaft protruding from his side. His eyes were fixed and glassy; blood still ran from his spread nostrils; but his beautiful limbs were motionless in death!
Horsemen were seen approaching the spot. We did not attempt to flee from them: I recognised my followers.
They came galloping up; and, drawing bridle, sat silent in their saddles.
We looked back over the plain; there was no sign of pursuit; but for all that, we did not tarry there. We knew not how soon the Indians might be after us; the friends of Hissoo-royo might yet come upon the trail of Wakono!
We scarce gave a parting look to that noble form stretched lifeless at our feet; but plying the spur, rode rapidly away.