The

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"What do you know? I am heartsick with all this hiding, and--and deceit. If you know the truth, speak out, and end it all!"

      "I can't say any more than you know already," he answered--"not so much; but last night a man was in your cabin, a man you know and quarreled with. I didn't hear you; don't think I was spying on you. A miner who passed the cabin heard your voices and told me something was wrong. You don't give me any right to advise you or dictate to you, 'Tana, but one thing you shall not do, that is, steal to the woods to meet him. And if I find him in your cabin, I promise you he sha'n't die of old age."

      "You would kill him?"

      "Like a snake!" and his voice was harsher, colder, than she had ever heard it. "I'm not asking you any questions, 'Tana. I know it was the man whom you--saw that night at the spring, and would not let me follow. I know there is something wrong, or he would come to see you, like a man, in daylight. If the others here knew it, they would say things not kind to you. And that is why it sha'n't go on."

      "Sha'n't? What right have you--to--to--"

      "You will say none," he answered, curtly, "because you do not know."

      "Do not know what?" she interrupted, but he only drew a deep breath and shook his head.

      "Tana, don't meet this man again," he said, pleadingly. "Trust me to judge for you. I don't want to be harsh with you. I don't want you to go away with hard thoughts against me. But this has got to stop--you must promise me."

      "And if I refuse?"

      "Then I'd look for the man, and he never would meet you again."

      A little shiver ran over her as he spoke. She knew what he meant, and, despite her bitter words last night to her visitor, the thought was horrible to her that Dan--

      She covered her face with her hands and turned away.

      "Don't do that, little girl," he said, and laid his hand on her arm. "'Tana!"

      She flung off his hand as though it stung her, and into her mind flashed remembrance of Jake Emmons from Spokane--of him and his words.

      "Don't touch me!" she half sobbed. "Don't you say another word to me! I am going away to-morrow, and I have promised to marry Max Lyster."

      His hand dropped to his side, and his face shone white in the wan glimmer of the stars.

      "You have promised that?" he said, at last, drawing his breath hard through his shut teeth. "Well--it is right, I suppose--right. Come! I will take you back to him now. He is the best one to guard you. Come!"

      She drew away and looked from him across to where the merest rim of the rising moon was to be seen across the hills. The thought of that other night came to her, the night when they had stood close to each other in the moonlight. How happy she had been for that one little space of time! And now--Ah! she scarcely dare allow him to speak kindly to her, lest she grow weak enough to long for that blind content once more.

      "Come, Tana."

      "Go. I will follow after a little," she answered, without turning her head.

      "I may never trouble you to walk with you again," he said, in a low, constrained tone; "but this time I must see you safe in the tent before I leave."

      "Leave! Going! Where to?" she asked, and her voice trembled in spite of herself. She clasped her hands tightly, and he could see the flash of the ring he had given her. She had put it on with the Indian dress.

      "That does not matter much, does it?" he returned; "but somewhere, far enough up the lake not to trouble you again while you stay. Come."

      She walked beside him without another word; words seemed so useless. She had said words over and over again to herself all that day--words of his wrong to her in not telling her of that other woman, words of reproach, bitter and keen; yet none of her reasoning kept her from wanting to touch his hand as he walked beside her.

      But she did not. Even when they reached the level by the springs, she only looked her farewell to him, but did not speak.

      "Good-by," he said, in a voice that was not like Dan's voice.

      She merely bowed her head, and walked away toward the tent where she heard Mrs. Huzzard laughing.

      She halted near the cabin, and then hurried on, dreading to enter it yet, lest she should meet the man she was trying to avoid.

      Overton watched her until she reached the tent. The moon had just escaped the horizon, and threw its soft misty light over all the place. He pulled his hat low over his eyes, and, turning, took the opposite direction.

      Only a few minutes elapsed when Lyster remembered he had promised Dan to look after Harris, and rose to go to the cabin.

      "I will go, too," said 'Tana, filled with nervous dread lest he encounter some one on her threshold, though she had all reason to expect that her disguised visitor had come and gone ere that.

      "Well, well, 'Tana, you are a restless mortal," said Mrs. Huzzard. "You've only just come, and now you must be off again. What did you do that you wanted to be all alone for this evening? Read verses, I'll go bail."

      "No, I didn't read verses," answered 'Tana. "But you needn't go along to the cabin."

      "Well, I will then. You are not fit to sleep alone. And, if it wasn't for the beastly snakes!--"

      "We will go and see Harris," said the girl, and so they entered his cabin, where he sat alone with a bright light burning.

      Some newspapers, brought by the captain, were spread before him on a rough reading stand rigged up by one of the miners.

      He looked pale and tired, as though the effort of perusing them had been rather too much for him.

      Listen as she might, the girl could hear never a sound from her own cabin. She stood by the blanket door, connecting the two rooms, but not a breath came to her. She sighed with relief at the certainty that he had come and gone. She would never see him again.

      "Shall I light your lamp?" asked Lyster; and, scarce waiting for a reply, he drew back the blanket and entered the darkness of the other cabin.

      Two of the miners came to the door just then, detailed to look after Harris for the night. One was the good-natured, talkative Emmons.

      "Glad to see you are so much better, miss," he said, with an expansive smile. "But you scared the wits nearly out of me this morning."

      Then they heard the sputter of a match in the next room, and a sharp, startled cry from Lyster, as the blaze gave a feeble light to the interior.

      He staggered back among the rest, with the dying match in his fingers, and his face ashen gray.

      "Snakes!" half screamed Mrs. Huzzard. "Oh, my! oh, my!"

      'Tana, after one look at Lyster, tried to enter the room, but he caught and held her.

      "Don't, dear!--don't go in there! It's awful--awful!"

      "What's wrong?" demanded one of the miners, and picked up a lamp from beside Harris.

      "Look! It is Akkomi!" answered Lyster.

      At the name 'Tana broke from him and ran into the room, even before the light reached it.

      But she did not take many steps. Her foot struck against something on the floor, an immovable body and a silent one.

      "Akkomi--sure enough," said the miner, as he saw the Indian's blanket. "Drunk, I suppose--Indian fashion."

      But as he held the light closer, he took hold of the girl's arm, and tried to lead her from the scene.

      "You'd better leave this to us, miss," he added, in a grave tone. "The man ain't drunk. He's been murdered!"

      'Tana, white as death itself, shook off his grasp and stood with tightly clasped hands, unheeding the words of horror around her, scarce hearing the shriek of Mrs. Huzzard, as that lady, forgetful even of the snakes, sank to the floor, a very picture of terror.

      'Tana

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