"An Indian feels so when he passes to his unmarked grave," answered
Winds, gazing solemnly at him. "Whispering Winds does not like this
fancy of yours. Let us leave Beautiful Spring. You are almost well.
Ah! if Whispering Winds should lose you! I love you!"
"And I love you, my beautiful wild flower," answered Joe, stroking the dark head so near his own.
A tender smile shone on his face. He heard a slight noise without the cave, and, looking up, saw that which caused the smile to fade quickly.
"Mose!" he called, sharply. The dog was away chasing rabbits.
Whispering Winds glanced over her shoulder with a startled cry, which ended in a scream.
Not two yards behind her stood Jim Girty.
Hideous was his face in its triumphant ferocity. He held a long knife in his hand, and, snarling like a mad wolf, he made a forward lunge.
Joe raised himself quickly; but almost before he could lift his hand in defense, the long blade was sheathed in his breast.
Slowly he sank back, his gray eyes contracting with the old steely flash. The will to do was there, but the power was gone forever.
"Remember, Girty, murderer! I am Wetzel's friend," he cried, gazing at his slayer with unutterable scorn.