"And if you can't find another horse?"
"You'll ride this one, and I'll lead him. I'll get your saddle if I can."
"We'll never make it," she said sadly.
"Yes, we will—I'm sure of it. Life means too much to us, darling, to give it up without a fight."
The deep crimson dyed her white face. "I—I had to tell you," she whispered, "or you never would have known."
A long shadow appeared upon the sand, and Robert saw the unmistakable outlines of a feather head-dress. Beatrice was nestled in his arms, with her face against his breast. His pistol was at his belt, loaded, and his sword lay near him. "Is your pistol loaded, dear?" he asked, very softly.
She started away from him in terror. "Yes," she cried; "but why?"
"Hush!" He pointed to the shadow on the sand, which stealthily approached.
"Oh!" she moaned; "after all this!"
Robert rose to his feet and went noiselessly toward the southern side of the sand hill. Beatrice stood just behind him, white as death. Then Black Partridge appeared before them, with something very like a smile upon his face. "How!" he grunted cordially.