!
hard as the task must prove, yet I could do it, believing I performed
the will of God as I struck the blow. But even for that I am helpless,
as I possess no weapon."

I felt her hands touch mine, something cold being pressed against my
flesh.

"I thank thee, Father, there is one whom I may trust even unto death,"
she sobbed prayerfully. "Take this knife, Geoffrey Benteen. The
Indians did not think to search a woman for such weapons of war. If
the moment comes when all hope is gone, when naught else is left, I
pray you, as a helpless woman utterly dependent upon your aid, let that
sharp point save me endless shame and agony. Have I your promise?"

"But--but why not ask this of your husband?" I questioned, shrinking,
in spite of my belief in its righteousness, from the committal of so
dreadful a deed.

"Surely he would better make answer for the necessity of so desperate a
sacrifice."

Her dark eyes never wavered from my face, nor did her hands relax their
confident grasp of mine.

"Not because I believe he would refuse, but he is of a temper
changeable as the winds of Spring. I must rest in peace, not in
perpetual doubting. You I trust implicitly; your word, once gravely
given, will be kept to the death; nay, surely this is no time in which
to practise deceit with each other, or act parts like mummers upon the
stage. I know you love me even as of old. I know this, Geoffrey
Benteen, and will abide in my extremity with no other promise than your
own."

"Eloise," I answered, strangely calmed and strengthened by her faith,
"it shall be as you wish. I thank you for the words, and am better for
them. When the last faint hope flees, and dishonor or death alone is
left, I will strike that blow which sets free your soul."

I felt her kisses and tears commingled on my roughened hands, but
before further words might be uttered, the heavy mat concealing the
western entrance was suddenly lifted, and in from the dark night there
stalked in solemn silence and dignity a long line of stalwart savages.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE VOTE OF DEATH

I have already written that I was never easily affected by supernatural
fears, yet something about that grim entrance chilled the very blood.
There was no cessation of the monotonous, dismal chanting of the
priests, as these newcomers,--whose sinister purpose no one could
doubt,--moving with the silence of spectres, their bodies draped in
shapeless robes of skin, appearin