Then the tall, dark form vanished, a door closed, and all was still.

The dog Shepp licked Jean's hand.
Jean felt grateful for that warm touch.

For a moment he sat on his roll of bedding, his thought still locked on the shuddering revelation of his father's words, "They're shore goin' to kill me." The shock of inaction passed.

Jean pushed his pack in the dark opening and, crawling inside, he unrolled it and made his bed.
When at length he was comfortably settled for the night he breathed a long sigh of relief.

What bliss to relax! A throbbing and burning of his muscles seemed to begin with his rest.