Then there had swept up into the girl’s face one gleam of life that made her beautiful for the instant, and she had bowed to them with a slow, almost haughty, inclination of her head, and spread out her hands like one who would like to bless but dared not, and said clearly, “I thank you—­all!” There had been just a slight hesitation before that last word “all,” as if she were not quite sure, as her eyes rested upon the ringleader with doubt and dislike; then her lips had hardened as if justice must be done, and she had spoken it, “all!” and, turning, sped away to her cabin alone.

They were taken by surprise, those men who feared nothing in the wild and primitive West, and for a moment they watched her go in silence.  Then the words that broke upon the air were not all pleasant to hear; and, if the girl could have known, she would have sped far faster, and her cheeks would have burned a brighter red than they did.

But one, the boldest, the ringleader, said nothing.  His brows darkened, and the wicked gleam came and sat in his hard eyes with a green light.  He drew a little apart from the rest, and walked on more rapidly.  When he came to the place where they had left their horses, he took his and went on toward the cabin with a look that did not invite the others to follow.  As their voices died away in the distance, and he drew nearer to the cabin, his eyes gleamed with cunning.

The girl in the cabin worked rapidly.  One by one she took the boxes on which the rude coffin of her brother had rested, and threw them far out the back door.  She straightened the furniture around fiercely, as if by erasing every sign she would force from memory the thought of the scenes that had just passed.  She took her brother’s coat that hung against the wall, and an old pipe from the mantle, and hid them in the room that was hers.  Then she looked about for something else to be done.

A shadow darkened the sunny doorway.  Looking up, she saw the man she believed to be her brother’s murderer.

“I came back, Bess, to see if I could do anything for you.”

The tone was kind; but the girl involuntarily put her hand to her throat, and caught her breath.  She would like to speak out and tell him what she thought, but she dared not.  She did not even dare let her thought appear in her eyes.  The dull, statue-like look came over her face that she had worn at the grave.  The man thought it was the stupefaction of grief.

“I told you I didn’t want any help,” she said, trying to speak in the same tone she had used when she thanked the men.

“Yes, but you’re all alone,” said the man insinuatingly; she felt a menace in the thought, “and I am sorry for you!”

He came nearer, but her face was cold.  Instinctively she glanced to the cupboard door behind which lay her brother’s belt with two pistols.

“You’re very kind,” she forced herself to say; “but I’d rather be alone now.”  It was hard to speak so when she would have liked to dash on him, and call down curses for the death of her brother; but she looked into his evil face, and a fear for herself worse than death stole into her heart.