owly to the wigwam of Diane. Thinking of the
story of the candle-stick, with his mouth twisted into a queer, wry
smile, Philip fumbled for his pipe.

"_Requiescat in pace_," said Philip, "the hopes of Philip Poynter!"

CHAPTER XXXIX

UNDER THE WILD MARCH MOON

Southward under the watery moon and the wild, dark clouds rode the
Indian girl, following a trail blazed only for Indian eyes. The
aquatic world about them had grown steadily wilder, more remote from
the haunts of men. Fording miry creeks, silver-streaked with
moon-light, trampling through dense, dark, tangled brakes and on, under
the wild March moon, followed Carl, a prey to the memory of the Indian
girl as he had seen her that night at Sherrill's.

Keela's face, vividly dark and lovely, had mocked his restless slumbers
this many a day. Keela's eyes, black like a starless night or the
cloud-black waters of Okeechobee had lured and lured to sensual
conquest.

But a great shame was adding its torment to the terrible pain in his
head and the fevered singing of his pulses. In the torture of his
self-abasement, the over-strung ligament in his head fell ominously to
droning again. Everything seemed remote and unreal. He hated the
awful silence about him--the crash of his horse's feet through the
matted brush and the twist of palmetto, resolved itself into dancing
ciphers.

Ahead Keela stopped. Motionless, like a beautiful sculptured thing,
she sat listening as Carl rode up beside her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I fancied some one followed," said Keela soberly. "It may not be."
She rode forward, glancing keenly at the trail behind her.

Thus they rode onward until the east grew pale and gray. A bleak dawn
was breaking in melancholy mists over the Everglades. The lonely
expanse of swamp and metallic water, of grass-flats and tangled wilds,
loomed indistinctly out of the half light in sinister skeleton.

Keela glanced with furtive compassion at the haggard face of the rider
behind her. Since midnight he had ridden in utter silence, growing
whiter it seemed as the night waned.

"Another hour!" said Keela in her soft, clear voice. "Be of courage.
When the sun rises there behind the cypress, we shall be at our
journey's end."

"I--I am all right," stammered Carl courageously, but he bit his lips
until they bled, and swayed so violently in the saddle that Keela slid
to the ground in alarm.

"Put your arms about my shoulders--so!" she comm