"Pounding his ear like a tenderfoot," he thought, "while I, a puppy in harness, couldn't sleep if I wanted to." He was nervously alert.

He filled his pipe for the third or fourth time and sat down on the edge of the bunk, listening for Tavish.

He was certain, from all that had been said, that Tavish would come.

All he had to do was wait.
There had been growing in him, a bit unconsciously at first, a feeling of animosity toward Tavish, an emotion that burned in him with a gathering fierceness as he sat alone in the dim light of the cabin, grinding out in his mental restlessness visions of what Tavish might have done.

Conviction had never been stronger in him.