om him into the darkening depths of the forest. Life leaped into
his limbs, and he raced like mad after her, overtaking her with a panting,
joyous cry. When she saw that she was caught the girl turned. Her hair had
fallen, and swept about her shoulders and her body. She tried to speak, but
only bursting sobs came from her breast. As she shrank from him, Roscoe
saw that her clothing was in shreds, and that her thin moccasins were
almost torn from her little feet. The truth held him for another moment
stunned and speechless. Like a lightning flash there recurred to him her
last words: "And some day--the Valley of Silent Men will awaken." He
understood--now. She had followed him, fighting her way through swamp and
forest along the river, hiding from him, and yet keeping him company so
long as her little broken heart could urge her on. And then alone, with a
last prayer for him--_she had planned to kill herself_. He trembled.
Something wonderful happened with him, flooding his soul with day--with a
joy that descended upon him as the Hand of the Messiah must have fallen
upon the heads of the children of Samaria. With a great, glad cry he sprang
toward Oachi and caught her in his arms, crushing her face to him, kissing
her hair and her eyes and her mouth until at last with a strange, soft cry
she put her arms up about his neck and sobbed like a little child upon his
breast.

Back in the camp the Indian waited. The white stars grew red. In the forest
the shadows deepened to the chaos of night. Once more there was sound, the
pulse and beat of a life that moves in darkness. In the camp the Indian
grew restless with the thought that Roscoe had wandered away until he was
lost. So at last he fired his rifle.

Oachi started in Roscoe's arms.

"You should go back--alone," she whispered. The old, fluttering love-note
was in her voice, sweeter than the sweetest music to Roscoe Cummins. He
turned her face up, and held it between his two hands.

"If I go there," he said, pointing for a moment into the south, "I go
_alone_. But if I go there--" and he pointed into the north--"I go
_with you_. Oachi, my beloved, I am going with you." He drew her close
again, and asked, almost in a whisper: "And when we awaken in the Valley of
Silent Men, how shall it be, my Oachi?"

And with the sweet love-note, Oachi said in Cree:

"Hand in hand, my master."

Hand in hand they returned to the waiting Indian and the fire.

***END OF THE PROJECT