creamed to Joe to send her away. The deep
superstition in her nature--bred by her people--had been stronger than
the love of revenge or the fear of punishment. Joe was the first to
read the meaning of her superstitious horror, knowing as he did her
hatred of Nellie and her love for Harry. And suddenly pointing at the
grovelling figure, he said in a shocked voice: "Boys, I see it all
now; she's the murderer. She meant to stab Nellie, her rival, and
would have done it if we hadn't in the darkness last night pitched our
tent next to Nellie's. The tents are alike, and she mistook ours for
hers."

The mention of Harry's name brought a gleam of reason to the
distracted girl's face, and springing to her feet--apparently now
forgetful of Nellie's presence--she begged Joe to take her from the
tent to Harry. Not for a moment did she appear to realize the dreadful
mistake she had made.

"He's there!" said Joe, pitilessly, pointing to the stretcher.
Thinking in her half-crazed manner that he was sleeping through it
all, she ran to the stretcher, and tore away the sheet that covered
the face she loved. It was not till she had caught the dear head to
her bosom and pressed her face to his, that the truth broke upon her
clouded mind. They had been drawing near her; but as she let his head
fall back, they all--except Joe--drew away from her; the heart-broken,
insane look on her face was more than they could bear. As she stood,
wildly pressing her hands to her forehead, Joe pointed at the gash in
the tent and then at the blood-stained clothing at Harry's side. Then
with fascinated gaze they watched the rapid changes which sped across
her face, for reason had not yet altogether flown, and they saw that
she was recalling the fearful mistake she had made. Suddenly her hands
slid to her side, and in doing so encountered the handle of the knife
which lay concealed beneath her blanket. That was the connecting link
which brought home to her the whole truth of the tragedy, and with a
cry that haunted many of them for years afterwards, she drew the
knife, gave one glance at the stained blade that had robbed her of him
for whom she would willingly have died, stabbed again and again the
fatal gash in the canvas, and then throwing away the knife, caught up
the lifeless body in her arms and began madly to chant a wild, weird
song which her people sang when they had triumphed over their enemies.

* * * * *

She was