After that they were all about her, even Bilkins and the two sailors asking to shake hands and hear from her own lips the story of what had happened. She recognized Gates as "the splendid captain who found the bomb," and he blushed like a little boy. Monsieur, of course, could not bring himself to treat her with anything less than royal deference, so he kneeled and kissed her hand. I saw her look at the back of it when he arose, and then search his face--he had left a tear which she seemed unwilling to brush off. Tommy, not content with one hand, took both; and these he shook until she burst out laughing. As a matter of fact, we were all laughing a few degrees immoderately. Then, without warning, the strain became too much. Her eyes suddenly filled, her lips began to tremble. Turning impulsively, she put an arm across Echochee's shoulders and together they walked toward the spring, leaving us silent. Old Gates rubbed his chin and looked up at the sky, saying huskily: "My word, it's going to rain!" And, although there was no cloud in sight, Tommy said he thought so, too. Thus the spell was broken and, with a more dismal duty to be performed, we sent for Smilax to bring the camp spade--leaving Monsieur to find Doloria and talk with her, for I had excused him from the contract Tommy made aboard the _Whim_, wanting to remove uncertainties as soon as possible. Gates entered a careful record in his notebook of identification marks on the three men we found dead. Our joint statement would be sufficient for the law in such a case as this, especially as Monsieur knew there was a price on Efaw Kotee's head, and doubtless on the heads of all who served him. When Smilax approached the last man he pointed down with grim satisfaction, saying: "Him bust black boy's head!" It was Jess, who would have bullied the old chief into giving up my princess! Well, our account was closed. But of Efaw Kotee there was no clue. I felt sure he was not among those who escaped, simply because he could not have run so fast; and Smilax was certain he did not follow with the chase. Our gruesome task finished, we turned back. For the moment I wanted to be alone, with my thoughts, my happiness, my uncertainty of Monsieur's power of persuasion, my heaviness of spirit caused by the work behind us. But Tommy ran up and slipped his arm through mine, saying with exaggerated carelessness: "I'm glad that crescendo of horrors is over--if you'll allow a kind of musical term; but I've got music in my soul to-day." "It's a funny time for music," I grumbled, "--except funeral marches." "By the way, did you find out about that other funeral march?" "No, I forgot," I confessed. "Don't bother me, Tommy; I feel like the devil."