He tried to bind up the wound, but his efforts were of no avail—he had only time to relieve him of the saddle before the faithful steed sunk shivering upon his knees and rolled over upon his side.
"We have not even a drop of water for him," said Nat, in despair.
With a most pitiful, touching look of affection, the dying eyes of the horse were fixed upon those of his master, who knelt beside him, caressing and talking fondly to him. In a few moments all was over—Kit Carson was dead.
The grief of his master was such as Elizabeth had not expected in so hardy and self-possessed a character. With his face bowed upon the proudly-arched neck now stiffening in death, Nat Wolfe remained silent, lost in sorrow, not even looking back to be sure of his own safety from lurking enemies. She saw how manfully he strove to restrain himself, but how, in despite of his efforts, the breath came harder and more labored until great sobs shook the breast of the brave stranger who had twice periled life in her defense, and whose loss and trouble now had been occasioned by his rescue of herself.
A little while Nat's face was hidden, ashamed of the tears which flowed as a tribute to the memory of a friend the noblest and truest, whose life had been given a sacrifice to crown years of faithful and intelligent servitude—a little while, and then his face was lifted up by a pair of small, soft hands; eyes glistening with tears of sympathy met his, and a kiss fell upon his forehead. As she would have comforted her uncle had she seen him in distress, the innocent child, moved by pity, remorse and gratitude, strove to comfort the person she had brought into this trouble—only the shyness, the sweet modesty which she herself scarcely understood, made her actions the more lovely. The timid touch and kiss, the sight of the fair face full of womanly solicitude, thrilled the hunter's heart with a fire which his companion little dreamed of kindling. It was a propitious moment for a new feeling to steal in and usurp the place of the desolate, friendless sense of loss which afflicted him. The little brown hand crept into his.
"It is all my fault. If it had not been for me, he would not have been killed," said Elizabeth, sadly. "I am so sorry—so sorry—and yet—ah, sir, if you had not come what would have been my—" she could not finish the sentence—a shudder shook every fiber of her frame.
"He could not have died in a better cause. I would have sacrificed Kit twice over to save you, so you must not blame yourself," he said, becoming in his turn the comforter. "We are hardly safe yet," he added, looking uneasily to the east. "If those prowling scoundrels should discover our loss, they would be after us with a vengeance. I will look well to my arms, and then we will take up our march without delay. Poor child! how do you think you can stand thirst, hunger and fatigue? I will try to shoot some stray game before night; but it's scarce here, I can tell you, and we may not find a drop of water till we get to the next station."
"I do not fear any thing in the world but those hateful Indians," was the reply. "I had rather starve to death in the desert, than to ever see one again. Oh, sir, let us get as far from them as we can."
He laughed at the beautiful, frightened eyes, lifted so confidingly and appealingly to his own.
"I don't wonder they make you nervous, little girl. Wait until I cut a lock of hair from Kit Carson's mane, and we will speed along. Poor Kit, good-by!"