"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 saw the roll of money scattered over the couch; the little bag of free gold drawn from under the pillow. He had evidently been stooping to secure it when the assassin crept behind him and left him dead there, with a knife sticking between his shoulders. "The very knife you had to-day!" said Lyster, horror-stricken at the sight. The miner with the lamp turned and looked at her strangely, and his eyes dropped from her face to her clasped hands, on which the ring of the snakes glittered. "Your knife?" he asked, and others, attracted by Mrs. Huzzard's scream, stood around the doors and looked at her too. She nodded her head, scarce understanding the significance of it, and never taking her eyes from the dead man, whose face was yet hidden. "He may not be dead," she said, at last. "Look!" "Oh, he's dead, safe enough," and Emmons lifted his hand. "Was he trying to rob you?" "I--no--I don't know," she answered, vaguely. Then another man turned the body over, and utter surprise was on every face; for, though it was Akkomi's blanket, it was a much younger man who lay there. "A white man, by Heavens!" said the miner who had first entered. "A white man, with brown paint on his face and hands! But, look here!" and he pulled down the collar of the dead man's shirt, and showed a skin fair as a child's. "Something terribly crooked here," he continued. "Where is Overton?"