"Don't!" he said, almost in a whisper--"for God's sake, don't cry. I can't stand that--not your tears. Here! be brave! Look up at me, won't you? See! I don't ask you for a word or a kiss or a thought when you leave me--only let me see your eyes! Look at me!" What he read in her trembling lips and her shrinking, shamed eyes made him draw his breath hard through his shut teeth. "My brave little girl!" he said softly. "You will think harshly of me for this some day--if you ever know--know all. But what you did this morning made a coward of me--that and my longing for you. Try to forgive me. Or, no--you had better not. And when you are his wife--Oh, it's no use--I can't think or speak of that--yet. Good-by, little girl--good-by!" CHAPTER XXIV. LEAVING CAMP. Afterward, 'Tana never could remember clearly the incidents of the few days that followed. Only once more she entered the cabin of death, and that was when Mr. Haydon and Mr. Seldon returned with all haste to the camp, after meeting with Captain Leek and the Indian boatman. Then, as some of the men offered to go with them to view the remains of the outlaw, she came forward. "No. I will take them," she said. When Mr. Haydon demurred, feeling that a young girl should be kept as much as possible from such scenes, she had laid her hand on Seldon's arm. "Come!" she said, and they went with her. But when inside the door, she did not approach the blanket-covered form stretched on the couch; only pointed toward it, and stood herself like a guard at the entrance. When Seldon lifted the Indian blanket from the face, he uttered a startled exclamation, and looked strangely at her. She never turned around. "What is it?" asked Mr. Haydon. No one replied, and as he looked with anxiety toward the form there, his face grew ashen in its horror. "Lord in heaven!" he gasped; "first her on that bed and now _him_! I--I feel as if I was haunted in this camp. Seldon, is it--is it--" "No mistake possible," answered the other man, decidedly. "I could swear to the identity. It is George Rankin!" "And Holly, the renegade!" added Haydon, in consternation; "and Lord only knows how many other aliases he has worn. Oh, what a sensation the papers would make over this if they got hold of it all. My! my! it would be awful! And that girl, Montana, as she calls herself, she has been clever to keep it quiet as she has, for--Oh, Lord!" "What is the matter now? You look fairly sick," said the other, impatiently. "I didn't fancy you'd grieve much over his death." "No, it isn't that," said Haydon, huskily. "But that girl--don't you see she was accused of this? And--well seeing who he is, how do we know--" He stopped awkwardly, unable to continue with the girl herself so near and with Seldon's warning glance directed to him. She leaned against the wall, and apparently had not heard their words. Seldon's face softened as he looked at her; and, going over, he put his hand kindly on her hair.