You might leave me the small revolver in case those howling savages come up--and Trent!" "Yes--" "The picture--just for a moment.

I'd like to have one look at her!" Trent drew it out from his pocket--awkwardly--and with a little shame at the care which had prompted him to wrap it so tenderly in the oilskin sheet.

Monty shaded his face with his hands, and the picture stole up to his lips.

Trent stood a little apart and hated himself for this last piece of inhumanity.

He pretended to be listening for the stealthy approach of their enemies.