She could see him sitting up straight, and he was not looking at her.

It must be late, she thought, for the light was strong in his face, warm with the first golden flow of the sun.

She smiled, and sat up, and shook her soft curls with a happy little laugh.
"Roger--" And then she, too, was staring, wide-eyed and speechless.

For she saw Peter under Jolly Roger's hand.

But it was not Peter who drew her breath short and sent fear cutting like a sharp knife through her heart.
Facing them, seated coldly on a log which McKay had dragged in from the timber, was a thin-faced sharp-eyed man who was studying them with an odd smile on his lips, and instantly Nada knew this man was Breault.
There was something peculiarly appalling about him as he sat there, in spite of the fact that for a few moments he neither spoke nor moved.