golden
skein, and with a little loving uplift of the eyes he drew it to his
breast. A few seconds he held it so, with an eagerness that told of some
sweet and mighty relief come to his soul,--some illumination of grace
that had seemed to be struck by the first sunrays from that hair into
his wondering eyes.

Slowly, then, the little smile faded,--the wistful light of it dying for
the last time. The tired head fell suddenly back and the wan lids closed
over lifeless eyes.

Still the hand clutched the hair to the quiet heart, the yellow strands
curling peacefully through the dead fingers as if in forgiveness. From
the look of rest on the still face it was as if, in his years of service
and sacrifice, the little man had learned how to forgive his own sin in
the flash of those last heart-beats when his soul had rushed out to
welcome Death.

Prudence had arisen before the end came and was standing in front of the
Indian to motion him away. Follett was glad she did not see the eyes
glaze nor the head drop. He leaned forward and gently loosed the limp
fingers from the yellow tangle. Then he sprang quickly up and put his
arm about Prudence. The two Indians backed off in some dismay. The one
who had first come to them spoke again.

"Big medicine! You give some chitcup?"

"No--no! Got no chitcup! _Vamose_!"

They turned silently and trotted back over the ridge.

"Come, sit here close by the fire, dear--no, around this side. It's all
over now."

"Oh! Oh! My poor, sorry little father--he was so good to me!" She threw
herself on the ground, sobbing.

Follett spread a saddle-blanket over the huddled figure at the foot of
the cross. Then he went back to take her in his arms and give her such
comfort as he could.

CHAPTER XLIII.

_The Gentile Carries off his Spoil_

Half an hour later they heard the sound of voices and wheels. Follett
looked up and saw a light wagon with four men in it driving into the
Meadows from the south. The driver was Seth Wright; the man beside him
he knew to be Bishop Snow, the one they called the Entablature of Truth.
The two others he had seen in Amalon, but he did not know their names.

He got up and went forward when the wagon stopped, leaning casually on
the wheel.

"He's already dead, but you can help me bury him as soon as I get my
wife out of the way around that oak-brush--I see you've brought along a
spade."

The men in the wagon looked at each other, and then climbed slow