He fell away a pace, casting his eyes over the river for his canoe, which was now a speck in the distance.
"Ba gosh! I'm hell of a t'ing for lookin' at," he said.

"I'm paddle hard--dat's w'y.

Sacre! how I sweat!" He hitched nervously at the band of his overalls, while Necia answered: "That's all right, Poleon." Then, without warning, her face froze with mingled repulsion and wonder.

"Look! Look!" she whispered, pointing past him.
Runnion was moving slowly, crawling painfully into a sitting posture, uplifting a terribly mutilated face, dazed and half conscious, groping for possession of his wits.

He saw them, and grimaced frightfully, cowering and cringing.
Poleon felt the girl's hand upon his arm, and heard her crying in a hard, sharp voice: "He needs killing! Put him away!" He stared down at his gentle Necia, and saw the loathing in her face and the look of strange ferocity as she met his eyes boldly.
"You don't know what he--what he did," she said, through her shut teeth.