"You'll ride this one, and I'll lead him. I'll get your saddle if I can." "We'll never make it," she said sadly. "Yes, we will--I'm sure of it. Life means too much to us, darling, to give it up without a fight." The deep crimson dyed her white face. "I--I had to tell you," she whispered, "or you never would have known." A long shadow appeared upon the sand, and Robert saw the unmistakable outlines of a feather head-dress. Beatrice was nestled in his arms, with her face against his breast. His pistol was at his belt, loaded, and his sword lay near him. "Is your pistol loaded, dear?" he asked, very softly. She started away from him in terror. "Yes," she cried; "but why?" "Hush!" He pointed to the shadow on the sand, which stealthily approached. "Oh!" she moaned; "after all this!" Robert rose to his feet and went noiselessly toward the southern side of the sand hill. Beatrice stood just behind him, white as death. Then Black Partridge appeared before them, with something very like a smile upon his face. "How!" he grunted cordially. The conversation which followed was a veritable "confusion of tongues." Robert knew about as much of the Indian language as the other did of English; but, after some little time, he was made to understand that they were British prisoners, and that, for the present, they were safe. "Ask him about Aunt Eleanor and the others," said Beatrice. There was another long colloquy. "They are all safe," Robert explained, finally; "the White Father and his wife, the other White Father and his fair-skinned wife, and the family of Shaw-nee-aw-kee. They have been anxious about us, and when he goes back he will tell them that we are all right." By signs and broken speech Black Partridge made it evident that they could not stay where they were, and ordered them to follow him. Robert demurred, but the chief frowned upon him so fiercely that he dared not disobey. From a voluble speech in the Indian tongue, Robert gathered that Black Partridge had not forgotten his promise--that the memory of the picture was still warm in his heart, and that he was the faithful friend of the paleface and her lover. Beatrice smiled when Robert told her what he had said. "He knew, didn't he?" she asked shyly. They began their long march northward upon the sand. Beatrice was mounted, and Robert walked beside her. Straight as an arrow and as tireless as an eagle, the Indian went swiftly in front of them, looking back, now and then, to see if they were following. It was a hard journey for Beatrice, since the dead lay all around her. Even the Indians Robert had killed seemed to distress her, and when she passed the spot where Queen lay she could not keep back her tears. Vultures, with slow-beating wings, were silhouetted now and then against the setting sun, as they went from one grewsome feast to another. "What are those birds?" asked the girl. "I never saw them before." "I do not know," lied Robert. "I have never seen them, either."