“No; if he did all this, Mouseh will not regret his death.”
Then the chief turned from ’Reesa and watched the warriors prepare Baltimore Bob for burial. He was wrapped in a great blanket, in whose folds a lot of basaltic stones was placed, and the whole borne to the river.
A few minutes later the burial party returned, and reported a fulfillment of their duty.
Nor did they report falsely, for they had flung the corpse into the stream, beneath the surface of which it disappeared like a cannon-shot.
“Now Mouseh punishes the painted liar,” cried the chief, and the glance of his dark eye fell upon Cohoon.
“Cohoon is ready,” was the undaunted reply, and with a firm step he strode into the center of the circle which the chieftain had formed. “Cohoon has fought the Modocs bravely,” he continued; “he has taken no prisoners; he would not spare Mouseh were he in his power; therefore, he expects no mercy at Mouseh’s hands; he will ask none.”
He stood in the light of the fire, with head proudly erect, and arms pinioned to his side. Once while he spoke he glanced at ’Reesa, and that glance bade her as affectionate a farewell as his lips could have framed.
“Thus spies die!” said the chief, stepping toward the Warm Springer with cocked revolver. “The hunting-ground over our head needs another hunter and the deer wait by the river for Cohoon’s coming.”
A deadly silence followed the last word, and every breath was suspended.
The revolver crept upward, and just as it rested on a level with the doomed man’s brain, a bullet knocked it from the Indian’s hand!