"All these years!" she sighed. "First her childhood all a blank to her, and now all the years with me lost! I'm a stranger to her—to my little Blossom! Oh, Jack!"
"Give her time. She will remember. Such cases are not unknown," comforted Lennon. He turned to Elsie.
"Listen, dear. I found your papa and mamma and buried them. Now I have killed the bad Indian. But you have been sick—out of your head—a long time. This lady—Carmena—has taken care of you and she loves you."
The child-minded girl peered up at her foster-sister.
"You—you love me? But I know it. You look at me like mamma does."
Carmena smiled radiantly. Lennon hastened to add an urgent appeal.
"She is hurt, Elsie, and more bad Indians are coming. Won't you help me get her safe away from here?"
The request diverted the girl's thoughts before she could yield again to panic. Instead of going frantic and becoming a drag upon Lennon's efforts, she helped support Carmena through to the hoist room.
Slade was lying as the Apaches had left him, beside the charcoal brazier, his left arm still lashed behind to his right foot. He had died from his wounds. As they passed by, Lennon shielded Elsie from the unpleasant sight. But Carmena looked full at the big twisted body of the man who had ruined and murdered her father.
"He deserved it all and more—far more," she murmured. "First to make Dad believe the brand-blotting was a part of his honest cattle business, and then——"