Three brief sentences told the disguised half-breed all.
He darted forward with a cry of mingled horror and vengeance.
They reached the lake-shore, over which brooded the silence of death.
Not a savage was to be seen, and the half-breed looked puzzled.
“They stationed no braves here,” he said; “perhaps, after all, they turned aside, for these bare rocks show no moccasin-steps. Girl, Ahdeek find something in woods.”
“My ring—my ring!” ejaculated Silver Rifle, starting forward as Ahdeek’s hand sought his medicine-pouch. “Give me the ring, chief, that I may read the mystery of my life.”
She trembled with emotion as she watched the hand withdrawn.
A moment later she caught the sparkle of precious stones in the starlight, and her fingers closed upon something cold.
Then she bent eagerly forward, and, with a startling cry, discovered that she griped a dead hand, lately severed from an arm, and that her ring glittered on one of the icy fingers!
Silver Rifle then did what nine-tenths of her sex would have done—dropped the dead member, and stared into Ahdeek’s face.