Beyond him sat Kate, huddled in one corner of the cabin.

A long buckskin thong was knotted round her waist, and tied to a log.

Her hair was matted and tangled, and on her face and arms were many discolored bruises.
Worse still, in her plaintive moaning, in the meaningless movement of her head, in her vacant expression, was proof that her mind had gone.

She was mad.

Even as an agonizing pity came over Joe, to be followed by the surging fire of rage, blazing up in his breast, he could not but thank God that she was mad! It was merciful that Kate was no longer conscious of her suffering.
Like leaves in a storm wavered Joe's hands as he clenched them until the nails brought blood.