Tavish, if he had guessed correctly, was a fiend.

He would soon know.

And if he was right, if Tavish had done that, if up in those mountains....
His eyes blazed and his hands were clenched as he looked down at Father Roland.

After a moment, without taking his eyes from the Missioner's recumbent form, he reached to the pocket of his coat which he had flung on the bunk and drew out the picture of the Girl.

He looked at it a long time, his heart growing warm, and the tense lines softening in his face.
"It can't be," he whispered.