CHAPTER III.
“Murder!”
The gruesome word seemed to ring through the silent room.
“Murder!” ejaculated old Nokomis, aghast. “It is a mistake. Who would kill White Eagle? There lives not an Indian in the whole country round who does not love him. No, No.”
There was horror on the face of the young man regarding her so steadfastly. Her withered, wrinkled face was honest enough, her tones genuine.
“No!” exclaimed Mr. Maybee, recovering from the stupor into which Warren’s words had thrown him. “Blame my skin! where’s the blud?”
Warren regarded him steadily a moment, then said, “Look! Internal hemorrhage.”
He half raised the body and pointed to a bullet hole in the back.
“By the Etarn’l!” was Maybee’s horrified exclamation. “Must ’a bled to death whilst we was comin’.”
Warren nodded.