erced the temple of the
savage, and with a grunt he whirled and fell dead beside the
Castilian.

The horse had quickly regained his feet, but the rider lay still, the
blood pulsing from his throat and staining the yellow sand. With
dextrous fingers Tahn-te removed the helmet and breastplate that the
position of the body might be eased. With sinew of deer from his
pouch, and a bone awl of needle-like sharpness, he drew together the
edges of the wound, then turning to where the Navahu lay prone on his
face in the sand, he deftly cut a strip of the brown skin a finger's
width across, and in length from shoulder to girdle; this he took from
the yet warm body as he would take the bark from a willow tree, and
bound it about the throat with the flesh side to the wound.

"Take my horse and follow," whispered Don Ruy, who had recovered
breath and speech,--"I am not yet so dead that I need the grave
digger--you can ride--take my horse and follow."

Tahn-te had leaped to the saddle, when a cry at the edge of the arroyo
caused him to halt, it was so pitiful a cry, and tumbling down through
the sand and gravel came Master Chico with staring eyes of fear, and
lips that were pale and quivering. The flayed back of the savage had
he caught sight of, and the white face of Don Ruy who looked dead
enough for masses despite his own assertion to the contrary, and the
lad flung himself on his excellency with a wail that was far from that
of a warrior, and then slipped silently into unconsciousness.

With the thought that a death wound had struck the lad who had come
to die with his master, Tahn-te turned the face back until the head
rested on the arm of the Castilian, lightly he ran his hands over the
body, and then halted, his eyes on the face of Don Ruy, who gazed
strangely at the white face on his arm. The cap was gone, the eyes
were closed, and the open lips showed the white teeth. In every way
the face was more childish than it had ever appeared to him--childish
and something more--something--

Then Tahn-te, who held the wrist of Chico, laid it gently on the hand
of Don Ruy.

"Only into the twilight land has she gone, Senor," he said softly--"even
now the heart beats on the trail to come back--to you!"

Don Ruy stared incredulously into the eyes of the Indian, and a flush
crept over his own pale face as he remembered many things.

"Dona Bradamante!" he murmured, and nodded to Tahn-te, who leaped on
the horse and rode where the