Although the voyageur was slower to anger than a child, a grudge never died in him, and his simple, self-taught creed knew no forgiveness for such men as Runnion, cherished no mercy for preying men or beasts.

He glanced towards the wooded shores a stone's-throw above, then back at the coward he had beaten and whose life was forfeit under the code.

There was a queer light in his eyes.
"Leave him here, Poleon.

We'll go away, you and I, in the canoe, and the first boat will pick him up.

Come." Necia tugged at his wrist for fear she might not prevail; but he was bent on brushing away a handful of hungry mosquitoes which, warmed by the growing day, had ventured out on the river.