ympathy, but merely stated the pathetic fact with a simple dignity.

He was silent for a time, lost in an old man's memories. Then he
turned to one of the four retainers who flanked his chair.

"I am lonely," he said. "I would that Ahma would sit by me."

As the swart Hillman crossed the springy floor and rapped gently upon
a closed door, the Major saw that every black eye focussed upon it
with eager expectancy. For a moment the room was palpitant with
suspense. He looked to Terry for explanation, but turned back at the
grinding crunch of the hingeless door which opened to frame a fairer
vision than the Major had ever dreamed, asleep or awake.

A white girl had stepped out of the other room and paused a moment
against the dark background of the door to sweep the room with big
black eyes.

A single piece of white cloth, fringed with bat fur, was draped about
her waist and fell below her knee, the ends passing up in front and
back of her round body to fasten loosely at the right shoulder. This,
with a little sleeveless garment fashioned, bolero-like, out of the
delicate bat skins, and a pair of sandals contrived in such a way as
to bring the hair of the deer skin against the little feet, was all
she wore.

Bronner scarcely realized the symmetry of the slender form, so lost
was he in the spell of the dark eyes that plumbed his for one long
second, leaving him tingling with a curious conviction that his soul
had been bared. Vivid of white skin, of jet eyes, of a mass of
midnight hair that hung loose to her waist, she radiated the fire and
spirit of vibrant youth.

"God! Such a girl--up here--all these years!" he breathed.

She left the doorway and crossing the room with the light grace of
slender, untrammeled limbs, sank down on a bench drawn up at Ohto's
side. He set his withered hand contentedly upon the mass of her hair,
and in a moment he spoke again.

"If the prophecies of the wise men are to be fulfilled, it must be
soon. The good fortune of which they spoke has not come to my
people--and Ohto cannot tarry long in wait.... Death calls an old man.

"It may be that the prophecy had to do with the coming of these white
men. It may be that it would be better to no longer guard the Hills
with balatak and stake and spear and poisoned dart. It may be that our
people would be stronger--happier."

Again he halted his slow monosyllables, searching the faces of the
Hillmen who waited upon his words: utter devotion a