"He tried--he--Ugh! I--I'm glad you did it!" She broke down,
trembling at her escape, until her selfishness smote her, and she
was up and beside him on the instant. "Are you hurt? Oh, I never
thought of that. You must be wounded!"

The Frenchman felt himself over, and looked down at his limbs for
the first time, "No! I guess not," he said, at which Necia noticed
his meagre attire, and simultaneously he became conscious of it. 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