We can't stand still even when it's hard going--but, no, bagosh!" He realized that around Carnac there was a shadow which took its toll of light and life.

He had the sound instinct of primitive man.

Strangely enough in his own eyes was the look in those of Carnac, a past, hovering on the brink of revelation.

His appearance was that of one who had suffered; his knotted hands, dark with warm blood, had in them a story of life's sorrows; his broad shoulders were stooped with the inertia of long regret; his feet clung to the ground as though there was a great weight above them.

But a smile shimmered at his mouth, giving to his careworn face something almost beautiful, lifting the darkness from his powerful, shaggy forehead.