For a moment the Englishman stood, rocking slowly to and fro, striving to clear his eyes of the blood that was trickling from the furrow the pistol had traced across his forehead. Then he gave a great shout: “Estelle!” he cried. “Estelle! Damme! It’s Estelle.” He paused, staring. Then he laughed hoarsely. “Plucky, too!” he cried. “A true Telfair, fit mate for a man.” He flung out his hands. “To me! Little one!” he cried. “To me! I liked you when I saw you first. But now--By God! You’re a Valkyrie, a Boadicea. To think of your daring to fight with me. You! A woman and a hop-o’-my thumb. By God! I love you for it. Come to me.” He stumbled forward. Alagwa sprang away. As she did so her hand touched the powder-horn that had clung to her belt through all that furious encounter. Her bullet-pouch, too, was in place. Lithely she dodged Brito’s rush, and as he blundered past she poured a charge of powder into the mouth of her pistol and rammed home the wad. Brito saw and read her motion. The man’s pluck was good, for he lurched toward her, laughing. “No! No! No! Estelle!” he cried. “Don’t shoot! You’ve lost one kinsman already”--he glanced towards Jack’s silent form--“and you can’t afford to lose another. Come! Lady! Cousin! Come to me. I’ll take you to England. I’ll make you queen of them all”--He broke off. Alagwa had forced home the bullet and had primed the pan. Now she raised the pistol. Brito saw it and changed his note. “D-- you, you hussy!” he yelled. “I’ll choke----” The pistol roared and he reeled back, clutching at his side. Then he crashed down. For an instant Alagwa stared at him, noting the red stain that was widening on his shirt beneath the heart. Then she let the pistol fall and turned away. Staggeringly she made her way to Jack’s side and sank down beside him. Into his torn hunting shirt she slipped her hand till it lay above his heart. No faintest throb rewarded her. No quiver of lip or eye negatived the red wound upon his brow. Silently her head fell forward. It was all over. Jack was dead. Without a gasp hope died. [Illustration: ALAGWA SHOOTS CAPTAIN BRITO] CHAPTER XV LONG Alagwa sat, staring into the face of her dead. She knew now, for once and ever more that he was her dead, hers, hers, hers alone. A week before she had not known that he existed. Four days before she had thought she hated him for the woe his people had inflicted upon hers. Two days before she had offered to fight with him to the death, but she had told herself that she had done this because he was facing her foes as well as his. Now, only a moment before, she had shot down her British kinsman, the ally of her people, in vengeance for his death. In dull wonder her thoughts traversed step by step the path that had brought her to this end, until in one blinding flash of enlightenment, she read her own soul. He was hers, her mate, created for her by Gitchemanitou the Mighty, foreordained for her in the dim chaos out of which the world was shaped.