valley--and Tula ride down on top of him!

Then a rope fell around Kit's shoulders, pinioning his arms and he was
jerked from the horse with a thud that for a space stunned him into
semi-unconsciousness, but through it he heard again the pitiful scream
of a dumb animal, and shouts of Marto to the frenzied Indians.

"Ha! Clodomiro, the _reata_! Wait for the lightning, then over her
shoulders! Only the horse is caught;--steady and a true hand, boy!
Ai-yi! You are master, and the Mother of God is your help! Run your
horse back,--run, curse you! or she will sink as he sinks! _Sangre de
Christo!_ she cuts the _reata_!"

Kit struggled out of the rope, and got to his feet in time to see the
flash of her knife as she whirled to her victim. Again and again it
descended as the man, now submerged to the waist, caught her. His
screams of fear were curdling to the blood, but high above the German
voice of fear sounded the Indian voice of triumph, and from the
vengeful cry of "Judas! Judas! Judas of the world!" her voice turned
sharply to the high clear chant Kit had heard in the hidden canon of
the red gold. It was as she said--there would be none of her caste and
clan to sing her death song to the waiting ghosts, and she was singing
it.

As those weird triumphant calls went out from the place of death every
Indian answered them with shouts as of fealty, and in the darkness Kit
felt as if among a circle of wolves giving tongue in some signal not
to be understood by men.

He could hear the sobs of men and boys about him, but not a measure of
that wild wail failed to bring the ever recurring response from the
brown throats.

Marto, wet and trembling, cursed and prayed at the horror of it, and
moved close to Kit in the darkness.

"Jesus, Maria, and Jose!" he muttered in a choked whisper, "one would
think the fathers of these devils had never been christened! _Sangre
de Christo!_ look at that!"

For in a vivid sheet of lightning they saw a terrible thing.

Tula, on the shoulders of the man, stood up for one wavering instant
and with both hands raised high, she flung something far out from her
where the sands were firm for all but things of weight. Then her high
triumphant call ended sharply in the darkness as she cast herself
forward. She died as her sister had died, and on the same knife.

Dona Jocasta stumbled from a horse, and clung to Kit in terror.
"Mother of God!" she sobbed. "It is as I said! She is the Eagle of
Mex