Then, starting up he straightened out his long arm and clutched wildly at the air with his sinewy fingers as if to grasp and hold the life that was escaping him.
Isaac could see the fixed, sombre light in the eyes, and the pallor of death stealing over the face of the chief.

He turned his eyes away from the sad spectacle, and when he looked again the majestic figure lay still.
The moon sailed out from behind a cloud and shed its mellow light down on the little glade.

It showed the four Indians digging a grave beneath the oak tree.

No word was spoken.

They worked with their tomahawks on the soft duff and soon their task was completed.