The camp-fire, the rock-slab for your floor and the black night about you for walls, the hours of talk, the ridge and the ice-slope, the bad times in storm and mist, the good times in the sunshine, the cold nights of hunger when you were caught by the darkness, the off-days when you lounged at your ease.

You won't forget John Lattery." Kenyon spoke very quietly but with a conviction, and, indeed, a certain solemnity, which impressed his companion.
"No," said Chayne, gently, "I shall not forget John Lattery." But his question was still unanswered, and by nature he was tenacious.

His eyes were still upon Kenyon's face and he added: "What then ?" "Only this," said Kenyon.

"Gabriel Strood was my John Lattery," and moving round the table he dropped his hand upon Chayne's shoulder.

"You will ask me no more questions," he said, with a smile.
"I beg your pardon," said Chayne.
He had his answer.