His dunnage was on his back, his paddle in his hand.

And Cassidy, smiling grimly, a dangerous humor in his eyes, was leveling an automatic at his breast.

It was, in that instant, a tableau which no man could ever forget.

Cassidy was bareheaded, and the sun burned hotly in his red hair.

And his face was red, and in the pale blue of his Irish eyes was a fierce joy of achievement.