She lifted her arms, then dropped them heavily upon his bowed shoulders.

“Dar is such a brightness come, senor.  Eet light everyting like eet vas de day.  Maybe I be good too, now dat a good man lofe me; maybe de God forgif all de bad because I lofe.  You tink so?  Oh, eet—­eet joys me so—­senor! senor!”

Motionless, almost breathless, but for the sobs shaking his great figure, he held her tightly, bending low, her white cheek against his own, her head pillowed upon his arm.  About them was the silence, the solemn night shadows, amid which waited Hicks and Winston earnestly watching.  Finally, the latter spoke gently, striving to arouse the man; but Stutter Brown never lifted his head, never removed his eyes from the death-white face upheld by his arm.  As though stricken to stone he remained motionless, seemingly lifeless, his face as pallid as the dead he guarded.  Hicks bent over and placed one hand upon his shoulder.

“Stutter, ol’ pard,” he said, pleadingly.  “I know it’s mighty hard, but don’t take on so; don’t act that way.  It can’t do her no manner o’ good now.  It’s all—­all over with, an’ you ain’t helpin’ her none a-settin’ thar that way.”

The smitten man drew a deep breath, glancing up into the kindly, seamed face bending over him, and about at the surrounding darkness.  He acted like one suddenly aroused from sleep, unable to comprehend his situation.  Slowly, with all the tenderness of love, he crumpled his old hat into the semblance of a pillow, placed it upon the rock, and lowered the girl’s head until it rested softly upon it.  Gently he passed his great hand in caress across the ruffled black hair, pressing it back from her forehead.  He arose to his knees, to his feet, swaying slightly, one hand pressed against his head as he stared blankly into the faces of the two men.

“W-which way d-did he go?” he asked, almost stupidly.  “Th-the feller w-who told ’em ter f-f-fire?”

Old Hicks, his eyes filled with misery, shook his head.

“Back ter the ‘Independence,’ I reckon,” he admitted.  “Most o’ ’em I saw started that way.”

Brown roughly jerked his gun from out its holster, holding the shining weapon up into the starlight.

“No, he didn’t; not that one,” he growled fiercely, his glance falling again upon the upturned features of the dead girl.  “I saw him out thar runnin’ toward our shaft-hole; h-he’s up t-ter more d-deviltry.  Y-you take k-keer o’ her.”  His voice broke, then rang out strong.  “By G-God, I ’ll git the murderer!”

He pushed past between the two, shouldering them aside as though failing to see them, and, with the leap of a tiger, disappeared in the night.  Each man had caught a glimpse of his face, drawn, white, every line picturing savagery, and shrank back from the memory.  It was as if they had looked upon something too horrible for thought.  A moment they stared after him, clutching their rifles as though in an agony of fear.  Hicks first found words of expression.