An awe grew in her, and she was filled half with dread and half with curiosity at the thought of facing him, as she must many a time, across the camp-fire.
In a way, he was the ladder by which she climbed to an understanding of Pierre le Rouge, Red Pierre.

For that Pierre, she knew, was to big Wilbur what Dick himself was to the great mass of law-abiding men.
Accident had cut Wilbur adrift, but it was more than accident which started Pierre on the road to outlawry; it was the sheer love of dangerous chance, the glory in fighting other men.

This was Pierre.
What was the man for whom Pierre hunted?
What was McGurk?
Not even the description of Wilbur had proved very enlightening.

Her thought of him was vague, nebulous, and taking many forms.

Sometimes he was tall and dark and stern.