CHAPTER V.
The Two Klamaths.
Two hours after the Indians’ departure from the cave wherein the Union shell had augmented the ranks of death, a figure let itself down through the hole in the roof, and alighted near the now dying fire.
It was the figure of an Indian, dressed in semi-barbaric garb, and he darted a look of mingled surprise and disappointment about the cavern. When his eyes fell upon the shell-stricken Modocs, six in number, he bounded to the spot, and soon six scalps hung at his leathern belt, faced with the well-known U. S. escutcheon.
He held a torch near the dead faces as though he looked for a particular one, which he did not find. For he shook his head, much chagrined at something, and abruptly turned away.
Then, holding the torch above his head, he advanced to the corridor where Kit South had fallen, and stooped over the figure that lay near the mouth.
The position of the scout had remained unchanged for two hours, and the Indian gently raised the head and put his ear to his lips.
But no signs of life seemed to reward him, until he tore the dark-gray hunting-jacket open, and placed his tawny hand over the heart.
Then a smile and a low ejaculation of joy parted his lips, and he rose quickly to his feet.
Lava-Bed Kit was not dead!