“‘Great God, I knew it! We shot her at the river, and he swam with her through that water-hell! For two days he carried her mangled body before our horses! I knew why his footprints were so deep! I knew for whom that couch of grass was made! At last he knew she was dying, and he came out to be killed! God of heaven! what manner of man was this!’
“Rushing into the brush, I found the body of Palladis lying upon the back with arms outspread. The dying woman had crawled to his side; her arms were about his head, her lips upon his face, and, as she kissed him, she cried with a passion that should have mocked the power of death:
“‘Oh, Tigre! Tigre! I will tell you now!’
“Feebly she drew her lips to his ear and whispered something I could not hear. Her arms tightened about his head, there was a slight tremor of the slender body—and the Lady Isola Pico was dead.”
Major Blanchard rose and, stepping to the table, lifted the covering from the face of his old friend. He looked long and steadily upon the placid features of the dead. As he replaced the veil, he said:
“In the cemetery at Old Nogales there stands a beautiful monument of pink onyx, bearing the simple inscription:
TIGRE AND ISOLA
“Nuñez Pico was the noblest man I ever knew.”