The ligature was perfect--cruelly complete. There was no hope that such
fastenings would give way. Those thongs of raw-hide would not come
undone. Horse and rider could never part from that unwilling embrace--
never, till hunger, thirst, death--no, not even death could part them!
Oh, horror!
Not without groans could I contemplate the hideous fate of my
betrothed--of her whose love had become my life.
I left the tracking to my comrades, and my horse to follow after. I
rode with loose rein, and head drooping forward; I scarcely gave thought
to design. My heart was well-nigh broken.