“Bob,” whispered Artena to Donald McKay, “does he see beneath the paint?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been watching him for a long time,” was the ranger’s reply. “I half believe that he suspects something. There! see how he looks into Cohoon’s eyes. We must watch him now; he suspects; I know it!”
Rafe Todd turned suddenly from the runners and strode toward ’Reesa South, who was supporting her lover’s head in her lap, unconscious of what was transpiring around her. She knew that strange Indians had entered the cave, for, through the red ranks that stood between her and the new-comers, she had caught glimpses of them.
But her whole attention was centered upon the young ranger, and no eyes save hers had noticed the slight movements that told of returning life.
“’Reesa,” said Rafe Todd, and the scout’s daughter started at her name. “After the excitement of the past few hours you need rest. Come with me. There is a spot near where you will find a soft bed, and I know you will enjoy a slumber.”
He spoke kinder than was his wont, and, stooping, gently touched her arm, as he finished.
“I do not want rest,” she answered, involuntarily shrinking from his touch. “See, Rafe Todd, he is not dead.”
The white Indian started.
“’Reesa, you must be mistaken,” he said. “He is as dead as Canby.”
“Touch his pulse.”