ve: the Mormon to deceive
the girl's father--the Indian to do the same with you. The story is
false, Marian Holt is _not_ dead."

"Marian ain't dead?"

"No, she lives--she has been true to you. Listen."

I could no longer keep from him the sweet secret. The reaction--
consequent on the bitter pang I had just experienced, while under the
momentary belief that it was Lilian who was dead--had stirred my spirit,
filling it with a wild joy. I longed to impart the same emotions to my
suffering companion; and, in rapid detail, I ran over the events that
had occurred since our parting. To the revelations which the Mexican
had made, Wingrove listened with frantic delight--only interrupting me
with frenzied exclamations that bespoke his soul-felt joy. When I had
finished, he cried out:

"She war _forced_ to go! I thort so! I knew it! Whar is she, capt'n!
Oh, take me to her! I'll fall on my knees. I'll axe her a thousand
times to pardon me. 'Twar the Injun's fault. I'll swar it war the
Chicasaw. She's been the cuss o' us both. Oh! whar is Marian? I love
her more than iver! Whar is she?"

"Patience!" I said; "you shall see her presently. She must be down the
valley, among the Indian women. Mount your horse, and follow me!"

CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO.

MARANEE.

We had ridden around the butte, and were in sight of the crowd of
wailing women, when one on horseback was seen emerging from their midst,
and turning head towards us. The habiliments of the rider told that she
was a woman. I recognised the Navajo scarf, and plumed circlet, as
those worn by the wild huntress. It was she who had separated from the
crowd! Had I needed other evidence to identify her, I saw it in the
wolf-like animal that was bounding after her, keeping pace with the
gallop of her horse.

"Behold!" I said. "Yonder is Marian--your own Marian!"

"It air, as I'm a livin' man! I mightn't a know'd her in that queer
dress; but yon's her dog. It's Wolf: I kud tell him, any whar."

"On second thoughts," suggested I, "perhaps, I had better see her first,
and prepare her for meeting you! What say you?"

"Jest as you like, capt'n. P'raps it mout be the better way."

"Bide behind the waggon, then! Stay there till I give you a signal to
come forth."

Obedient to the injunction, my companion trotted back, and disappeared
behind the white tilt. I saw the huntress was coming towards the mound;
and, instead of going forth to meet he