Had the dead arisen? After all, was not their rescuer but the ghost of one well known?
No; he was flesh and blood, for the gory furrow of the White Tiger’s tomahawk was visible near the temple.
The avenger snatched a brand from the fire, and resumed the search along the rocky shelves.
Silver Rifle and the Destroyer watched him in silence.
At last he turned away, with a cry of mingled disappointment and rage, and flung the torch on the ground.
“Silver Rifle’s ring gone again,” he said. “Ahdeek laid it there not long ’go. Somebody stole it. Him Ahdeek hunt now, an’ he speak not to Silver Rifle till he find it.”
Then, with a maddened glance at the rocks, and a farewell look at the late captives, the half-breed sprung over the dead Indians, and disappeared down the dark throat of the corridor!
“He is gone,” said Silver Rifle, recovering her self-possession. “Heaven speed him on his mission.”
“So say I, too, girl,” said the youth, and then his glance fell upon the slaughtered braves. “I hope these days of blood are drawing to a close. Oh, Heaven, are they not?”