eam, ner move none to save herself."

There was a little period of silence. These men were schooled to the
concealment of deepest emotions. There was no frantic outburst from
the bereaved lover, from the afflicted grandfather. There was not
even comment or further questioning. Of what avail? The thing was
done. The girl was lost forever, dead. But the other men looked away,
lest they see the agony in Zeke's face.

Abruptly, the young man started walking down the slope. He wore shoes,
and they slipped a little on the smooth stone. Straight down toward
the brink he strode. The curve of the dome made every step more
perilous. It was a natural, an irresistible impulse to look on the
precise place where the loved one had perished, but it appeared as if
he walked to his death. Indeed, his danger was grave, for he had
forgotten the shoes he wore.... Or, perhaps, he did not care! Uncle
Dick uttered an oath, and leaped in pursuit. It was only a matter of
seconds to overtake the young man, seize him, turn him about and march
him back with fierce expostulations that were a welcome vent to
emotion.

Zeke obeyed readily, aware of his momentary folly. Then, as he
rejoined the group, hate flared again. Memory of the fight was
confused by the blow on his head. He questioned Seth Jones harshly,
with a single word:

"Hodges?"

The veteran permitted himself a faint smile. The cruelty of the
soldier, accustomed to violent deaths, was in it. There was, too, a
curious smugness, a secret complacency.

"I 'low yer wits are some shook up yit, bein' as how ye disremember,"
he remarked easily. "Ye trun Hodges over the cliff, Zeke, jest as ye
went down. Hit were nip an' tuck atween ye, an' ye bested 'im." The
kindly veteran believed the lie would be a life-long source of
satisfaction to the lad, who had been so fearfully despoiled. Now, his
belief was justified by the fierce pleasure that showed for a moment
in Zeke's pain-drawn face.

"I kain't seem to remember," he said, perplexedly. "But I'm shore glad
I killed him."

Then, again, silence fell. There could be no triumph really over the
death of Hodges, because it had involved the destruction of Plutina as
well. The five men stood about awkwardly. The solemnity of death lay
like a pall over them. In the stress of suffering, Zeke had moved on
from youth to the full stature of manhood. Uncle Dick had added a
score of years to his apparent age. Brant grieved much, if less
seriously. Onl