“Captain Jack, General?”
“Captain Jack or Mouseh, as his people call him. I want to see the murderer of Canby swing. But, why does not Artena come?”
“Perhaps she has got in trouble,” said the Oregonian. “If so—there! somebody is coming now.”
General Gillem raised his field-glass, but could distinguish nothing, for the shadows of night were gathering and the smoke of savage fires hung heavily over the ground where so many brave soldiers had lately fallen before three score of Modoc rifles.
“I heard hoofs,” said the ranger. “Tis Artena at last, General.”
As he uttered the last words, the dark figure of a horse came in view and presently the animal halted before the twain.
Gillem started forward.
“Artena!” he cried, recognizing the womanish figure seated on the Indian saddle.
“White war-man good; he wait for Artena,” said the woman. “But who with him?”
“Kit, Artena,” said the ranger quickly, starting forward. “I’ve been here since the bloody fight of this morning.”