chief once more. He gently put Nell aside before
Jim arose from his sad task.

"We can not leave him unburied," expostulated Jim.

Wingenund dragged aside a large stone which formed one wall of the
cavern. Then he grasped a log which was half covered by dirt, and,
exerting his great strength, pulled it from its place. There was a
crash, a rumble, the jar of a heavy weight striking the earth, then
the rattling of gravel, and, before Nell and Jim realized what had
happened, the great rock forming the roof of the cavern slipped down
the bank followed by a small avalanche. The cavern was completely
covered. Mr. Wells was buried. A mossy stone marked the old
missionary's grave.

Nell and Jim were lost in wonder and awe.

"Ugh!" cried the chief, looking toward the opening in the glade.

Fearfully Nell and Jim turned, to be appalled by four naked, painted
savages standing with leveled rifles. Behind them stood Deering and
Jim Girty.

"Oh, God! We are lost! Lost! Lost!" exclaimed Jim, unable to command
himself. Hope died in his heart.

No cry issued from Nell's white lips. She was dazed by this final
blow. Having endured so much, this last misfortune, apparently the
ruin of her life, brought no added suffering, only a strange, numb
feeling.

"Ah-huh! Thought you'd give me the slip, eh?" croaked Girty,
striding forward, and as he looked at Wingenund his little, yellow
eyes flared like flint. "Does a wolf befriend Girty's captives?
Chief you hev led me a hard chase."

Wingenund deigned no reply. He stood as he did so often, still and
silent, with folded arms, and a look that was haughty, unresponsive.

The Indians came forward into the glade, and one of them quickly
bound Jim's hands behind his back. The savages wore a wild, brutish
look. A feverish ferocity, very near akin to insanity, possessed
them. They were not quiet a moment, but ran here and there, for no
apparent reason, except, possibly, to keep in action with the raging
fire in their hearts. The cleanliness which characterized the normal
Indian was absent in them; their scant buckskin dress was bedraggled
and stained. They were still drunk with rum and the lust for blood.
Murder gleamed from the glance of their eyes.

"Jake, come over here," said Girty to his renegade friend. "Ain't
she a prize?"

Girty and Deering stood before the poor, stricken girl, and gloated
over her fair beauty. She stood as when first transfixed by the
horror from which she had