Carl's horrified eyes turned slowly to the west.
Keela was coming through the trees, proud eyes fierce with terrible
anger; halting beside the dead man, she spurned him with moccasined
foot.
The tense, droning string in Carl's head whirred again--and snapped.
He lay in a heavy stupor, dozing fitfully until the moon climbed high
again above the Glades.
CHAPTER XL
THE VICTORY
When consciousness and a restful sense of returning strength came at
last Keela was bending anxiously over him.
"You have been quiet so long," she said gravely, "that I grew afraid.
Drink." She held forth a cup of woven leaves, and the glance of her
great black eyes was very soft and gentle.
Carl flushed and taking the cup with shaking hand, drank. There was a
flash of gratitude in his eyes.
"Themar?" he whispered. "Where is he?" He looked toward the trees
beyond.
"In the swamp!" said Keela, her face stern and beautiful. "It is
better so."
"You--you dragged him there?"
"I am very strong," said Keela simply. "The vultures will get him. It
is the Indian way with one who murders."
Their eyes met, a great wave of crimson suddenly dyed Keela's throat
and face and swept in lovely tide to the brilliant turban. A
constrained silence fell between them, broken only by the whir of a
great heron flapping by on snowy wings.
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