ly have mocked any appeal I might have made. It
was just as well that I had no opportunity of making it. After giving
some further directions to his follower--and once more repeating his
savage menace, in the same exulting tone--he passed behind me; and I
lost sight of him. But I could tell by the noise that reached me at
intervals, that he had gone down from the rock, and was returning to his
warriors upon the plain.

It was the first time since my face-fastenings had been cut loose, that
I had a thought of looking in that direction. During all the while that
the Red-Hand stood by me, I had been in constant dread of instant
death--or of some equally fearful issue. The gleaming blade had never
been out of my eyes for two seconds at a time; for in the gesticulations
that accompanied his speeches, the steel had played an important part,
and I knew not the moment, it might please the ferocious savage to put
an end to my life. Now that he was gone, and I found a respite from his
torturing menace, my eyes turned mechanically to the plain. I there
beheld a spectacle, that under other circumstances might have filled me
with horror. Not so then. The agony of my thoughts was already too
keen to be further quickened. Even the gory skull of one of my
comrades, who lay scalped upon the sward, scarcely added an emotion. It
was a sight I had anticipated. They could not all be alive.

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

A SAVAGE ARTIST.

The ensanguined skull was the first object that caught my eye. The dead
man was easily identified. The body--short, plump, and rotund--could be
no other than that of the unfortunate Irishman. His jacket had been
stripped off; but some tattered remnants of sky-blue, still clinging to
his legs, aided me in identifying him. Poor fellow! The lure of
Californian metal had proved an ill star for him. His golden dream was
at an end. He was lying along the sward, upon his side, half doubled
up. I could not see his face. His hands were over it, with palms
spread out--as if shading his eyes from the sun! It was a position of
ordinary repose; and one might have fancied him asleep. But the gory
crown, and red mottling upon the shirt--seemingly still wet--forbade the
supposition. He slept; but it was the sleep of death!

My eyes wandered in search of the others. There were fires burning.
They were out upon the plain, some three hundred yards from the base of
the butte. They had been lately kindl