For two or three minutes after Father Roland had disappeared in the forest David and Mukoki stood without moving.

Amazed and a little stunned by the change they had seen in the Missioner's ghastly face, and perplexed by the strangeness of his voice and the unsteadiness of his walk as he had gone away from them, they looked expectantly for him to return out of the shadows of the timber.

His last words had come to them with metallic hardness, and their effect, in a way, had been rather appalling: "There will be--no prayer." Why?
The question was in Mukoki's gleaming, narrow eyes as he faced the dark spruce, and it was on David's lips as he turned at last to look at the Cree.

There was to be no prayer for Tavish! David felt himself shuddering, when suddenly, breaking the silence like a sinister cackle, an exultant exclamation burst from the Indian, as though, all at once, understanding had dawned upon him.

He pointed to the dead man, his eyes widening.
"Tavish--he great devil," he said.