“Hush!  Leave her where she is.  Don’t seem afraid.  It’s our only chance.  Let them make the first move.”  Again the hand pressure so tight that, although she made no sound, the blood left the woman’s fingers.  “Tell me you forgive me, Margaret; before anything happens.  I’m a criminal to have stayed here,—­I see it now, a criminal!”

“Don’t!”

“But I must.  Tell me you forgive me.  Tell me.”

“I love you, Sam.”

Again in the expanse of grass to the east there was motion; not in a single spot but in a dozen places.  No living being was visible, not a sound broke the stillness of evening; simply here and there it stirred, and became motionless, and stirred again.

“And—­Margaret.  If worst comes to worst they mustn’t take either of us alive.  The last one—­I can’t say it.  You understand.”

“Yes, I understand.  The last load—­But maybe—­”

“It’s useless to deceive ourselves.  They wouldn’t come this way if—­Margaret, in God’s name—­”

“But baby, Sam!” Of a sudden she was struggling fiercely beneath the grip that kept her back.  “I must have her, must see her again; must, must—­”

“Margaret!”

“I must, I say!”

“You must not.  They’ll never find her there.  She’s safe unless we show the way.  Think—­as you love her.”

“But if anything should happen to us—­She’ll starve!”

“No.  There are soldiers at Yankton, and they’ll come—­now; and Landor knows.”

“Oh, Sam, Sam!”

There was silence.  No human being could give answer to that mother wail.

Again time passed; seconds that seemed minutes, minutes that were a hell of suspense.  Below the horizon of prairie the sun sank from sight.  In the hot air a bank of cumulus clouds glowed red as from a distant conflagration.  For and eternity previous it seemed to the silent watchers there had been no move; now again at last the grass stirred; a corn plant rustled where there was no breeze; out into the small open plat surrounding the house sprang a frightened rabbit, scurried across the clearing, headed for the protecting grass, halted at the edge irresolute—­scurried back again at something it saw.

“You had best go in, Margaret.”  The man’s voice was strained, unnatural.  “They’ll come very soon now.  It’s almost dark.”

“And you?” Wonder of wonders, it was the woman’s natural tone!

“I’ll stay here.  I can at least show them how a white man dies.”

“Sam Rowland—­my husband!”

“Margaret—­my wife!” Regardless of watchful savage eyes, regardless of everything, the man sprang to his feet.  “Oh, how can you forgive me, can God forgive me!” Tight in his arms he kissed her again and again; passionately, in abandon.  “I’ve always loved you, Margaret; always, always!”

“And I you, man; and I you!”

* * * * *