sp and hold the life
that was escaping him.

Isaac could see the fixed, sombre light in the eyes, and the pallor
of death stealing over the face of the chief. He turned his eyes
away from the sad spectacle, and when he looked again the majestic
figure lay still.

The moon sailed out from behind a cloud and shed its mellow light
down on the little glade. It showed the four Indians digging a grave
beneath the oak tree. No word was spoken. They worked with their
tomahawks on the soft duff and soon their task was completed. A bed
of moss and ferns lined the last resting place of the chief. His
weapons were placed beside him, to go with him to the Happy Hunting
Ground, the eternal home of the redmen, where the redmen believe the
sun will always shine, and where they will be free from their cruel
white foes.

When the grave had been filled and the log rolled on it the Indians
stood by it a moment, each speaking a few words in a low tone, while
the night wind moaned the dead chief's requiem through the tree
tops.

Accustomed as Isaac was to the bloody conflicts common to the
Indians, and to the tragedy that surrounded the life of a borderman,
the ghastly sight had unnerved him. The last glimpse of that stern,
dark face, of that powerful form, as the moon brightened up the spot
in seeming pity, he felt he could never forget. His thoughts were
interrupted by the harsh voice of Crow bidding him get up. He was
told that the slightest inclination on his part to lag behind on the
march before them, or in any way to make their trail plainer, would
be the signal for his death. With that Crow cut the thongs which
bound Isaac's legs and placing him between two of the Indians, led
the way into the forest.

Moving like spectres in the moonlight they marched on and on for
hours. Crow was well named. He led them up the stony ridges where
their footsteps left no mark, and where even a dog could not find
their trail; down into the valleys and into the shallow streams
where the running water would soon wash away all trace of their
tracks; then out on the open plain, where the soft, springy grass
retained little impress of their moccasins.

Single file they marched in the leader's tracks as he led them
onward through the dark forests, out under the shining moon, never
slacking his rapid pace, ever in a straight line, and yet avoiding
the roughest going with that unerring instinct which was this
Indian's gift. Toward dawn the moon went