He would have sensed that fact in another moment or two, but something
came between him and the radiance flung by the westward slant of the
sun. It was a face, two faces--first Hauck's and then Brokaw's! Yes,
Brokaw was there! Staring down at him. A fiend still. And almost
unrecognizable. He was no longer stripped, and he was no longer bloody.
His countenance was swollen; his lips were raw, one eye was closed--but
the other gleamed like a devil's. David tried to sit up. He managed with
an effort, and balanced himself on the edge of his cot. His head was
dizzy, and he felt clumsy and helpless as a stuffed bag. His hands were
tied behind him, and his feet were bound. He thought Hauck looked like
an exultant gargoyle as he stood there with a horrible grin on his face,
and Brokaw....
It was Brokaw who bent over him, his thick fingers knotting, his open
eyes fairly livid.
"I'm glad you ain't dead, Raine."
His voice was husky, muffled by the swollen thickness of his battered
lips.
"Thanks," said David. The dizziness was leaving him, but there was a
steady pain in his head. He tried to smile. "Thanks!" It was rather
idiotic of him to say that. Brokaw's hands were moving slowly toward his
throat when Hauck drew him back.
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