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“Lennie,” she began, but he interrupted her gravely.

""Watchman, what of the night?' They're such fools most of them, but he was a first-rate youngster, and I've never forgot them words he talked about, 'Watchman, what of the night?' That's what I'm askin'—for the-night-iscomin' -fast."

The last words were almost inaudible, and the clear eyes slowly closed. Naya bent over him in helpless anguish.

“Naya's tears," he whispered, rallying a little. He lifted a feeble hand to his wet cheek. “How sweet-I may say it now. I love-love - love you."

The sad eyes opened again and their glow deepened-deepened, drawing Naya closer and closer until their lips touched and clung. Then he gently pressed her head to his breast. She lay there without moving, whispering little broken words of love and comfort until the hands in her hair grew quiet and cold. When she disengaged herself, she realized that Len was there no longer.

The sun still lingered on the hill tops, but the

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shadows were gathering in the hollows and the birds were already chanting their melancholy evensong. The Indian child sat motionless by her dead, the great dark eyes staring and tragic.

A few hours later they found them and took them home.

“The man from Poison Spider Creek—not my people—not the Blackfeet," was what she told them.

Two months later the murderer was found. His death wound had left him only strength enough to slink into the Bad Lands, where he had died, a prey to the wolves and vultures. "Watchman, what of the night?” Was it the same for these two?

A rough bier covered with splendid robes was arranged in the sitting room, and there they laid him, the brave dead boy. The expression on his face was rapt, as of one who listens. Was it the song of Naya's waterfall that he heard? She knew.

Wiggy sat by his friend, weeping like a child. Naya crept in softly and laid her hand on his shoulder.

I would put this."

“What is it?"
"Comet's bridle. Len so loved him."

Wiggy put his head on the edge of the bier and sobbed anew. With an exquisite tenderness Naya placed the bridle in the young cow-puncher's cold hand and then paused irresolute. No, she had had him quite alone those many hours, and now she must leave him to his friends.

Wiggy looked up and was filled with awe when he saw the changed, grief-stricken face. Where was the brilliant, laughing child of a month ago?

The following day they buried him under a cliff near the river.

"It faces to the south,” said Naya, who chose the spot. “In the Moon of Winds, when all is bare and cold, it is like a golden carpet.”

The following inscription was rudely chiseled on the face of the cliff:

“Watchman, what of the night?”

L. D. 188 Far below the river rolled noiselessly toward the distant sea, and on beyond were the bluffs and plains which would ring no more with his gay laugh and gayer song.

The night before William had injured his ankle again, and was unable to go, and most of Len's friends were out on the range or at one of the other ranches; but there were loving little Wiggy, and Spanish Pico, and Old Tom, and Arthur, besides the hoard of little Carvers and Hannah, clinging tightly to Naya's hand.

In the morning Arthur taught the boys a fragment of an Episcopal hymn he used to sing in the little Clifdale church. It seemed to him there ought to be some sort of religious ceremony.

"Now the day is over
Night is drawing nigh;
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky;
Jesus, give the weary
Calm and sweet repose;
With Thy tenderest blessing

May our eyelids close." That was all he could remember, so they were to sing it twice, but one by one the voices choked and ceased, and only Old Tom's brave quaver was left for the last line.

When they were lowering the rough wooden box, Arthur said anxiously,

“There should be a little prayer. You, Mrs. Warren.”

But Hannah, too moved to speak, only shook her head.

“Weegy,” said Pico.

Wiggy looked blank for a moment, but Len was his friend, and without a word he covered his face with both hands.

"You ain't very well knowed out here on Powder River, O God, but we feel you are somethin' and somewheres. It's mighty tough, this here thing that's happened.” Here he paused and gulped hard for an instant, and then continued bravely. “We'll miss him so terrible. You must have knowed that he was the best one in the gang and" but he broke down completely.

There was a sudden wild sob. Naya had pulled away from Hannah and was running down the slope toward the river. She could endure it no longer. The trees received her and she was seen no more until dark.

“How terrible it has been for you, darling,” said William, when she went to bid him good night.

“Yes,” she replied, "Len is here not longer." And that is all she ever said on the subject.

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