The smitten man drew a deep breath, glancing up into the kindly, seamed face bending over him, and about at the surrounding darkness. He acted like one suddenly aroused from sleep, unable to comprehend his situation. Slowly, with all the tenderness of love, he crumpled his old hat into the semblance of a pillow, placed it upon the rock, and lowered the girl's head until it rested softly upon it. Gently he passed his great hand in caress across the ruffled black hair, pressing it back from her forehead. He arose to his knees, to his feet, swaying slightly, one hand pressed against his head as he stared blankly into the faces of the two men.
"W-which way d-did he go?" he asked, almost stupidly. "Th-the feller w-who told 'em ter f-f-fire?"
Old Hicks, his eyes filled with misery, shook his head.
"Back ter the 'Independence,' I reckon," he admitted. "Most o' 'em I saw started that way."
Brown roughly jerked his gun from out its holster, holding the shining weapon up into the starlight.
"No, he didn't; not that one," he growled fiercely, his glance falling again upon the upturned features of the dead girl. "I saw him out thar runnin' toward our shaft-hole; h-he's up t-ter more d-deviltry. Y-you take k-keer o' her." His voice broke, then rang out strong. "By G-God, I 'll git the murderer!"
He pushed past between the two, shouldering them aside as though failing to see them, and, with the leap of a tiger, disappeared in the night. Each man had caught a glimpse of his face, drawn, white, every line picturing savagery, and shrank back from the memory. It was as if they had looked upon something too horrible for thought. A moment they stared after him, clutching their rifles as though in an agony of fear. Hicks first found words of expression.
"He 's gone mad! God pity him, he 's gone mad!"
Winston drew himself together sharply, one hand grasping the other's arm.
"Then leave it to him," he said, quickly. "Whoever did this deed deserves his punishment. Let us do what he bade us—look to the body of this poor girl."