Maxwell’s brain was in a tumult of confusion. Thoughts flew rapidly through it. Suddenly he had been aroused from his solitary life in a strange land to become an actor in a local tragedy. The man lying on the bed of skins had certainly been murdered. Who then was the assassin? Again he looked at Nokomis, who was intently watching him. She shook her head mournfully in answer to his unasked question. Mr. Maybee was nonplussed. “What’s to be done? Terrible! Murder! Why, it will kill the girl.” Warren Maxwell started. For a moment he had forgotten the delicate child in the next room rendered so suddenly an orphan, and in so fearful a fashion. “A doctor must be summoned to certify to cause of death, and the police authorities must be notified,” Warren said at length. “Right you are, pard,” returned Maybee. “I’m hanged ef this business hain’t knocked the spots out of yours truly. I’ll take the boat and Judah here, and be back by sunrise.” He turned away, but Judah lingered, giving a wistful look into Maxwell’s face. “Yes,” said Warren, laying his hand on the lad’s shoulder, “I will tell her.” With a gesture of thanks Judah followed Mr. Maybee out into the night. Pulling himself together, Warren, followed by Nokomis, entered the room where he had left Winona. She lay on the bed where he had placed her, still unconscious, her long hair lank with the rain, streamed about her face; her lips were slightly parted, even younger and more beautiful than he had at first thought; and as he remembered her story and the position that the death of her father placed her in, his soul went out to her in infinite pity. “Poor child! Poor little thing!” he mused. “Heaven must have sent me here at this awful moment. You shall not be friendless if I can help you.” He questioned Nokomis closely. The old woman shook her head. “Alone except for old Nokomis and Judah. White Eagle loved her very much. Old Nokomis will take care of her.” Between them the girl was restored to consciousness, and learned the truth of her father’s death told by Warren as gently as possible. She heard him with a stunned expression, pale lips and strained eyes; suddenly, as she realized the meaning of his words, she uttered a piercing cry, and sprang up exclaiming: “My father! Oh, my father! Murdered!” She would have rushed from the room. She struggled with Warren, trying with her small fingers to unclasp his, which with tenderness held her; she turned almost fiercely upon him for staying her. The paroxysm died as quickly as it came, leaving her weak and exhausted.