David knew why. He
left her without looking down into her eyes again, anxious to have these
last terrible minutes over. At the open door of the cabin he hesitated,
a little sick at what he knew he would see. And yet, after all, it was
no worse than it should be; it was justice. He told himself this as he
stepped inside.
He tried not to look too closely, but the sight, after a moment,
fascinated him. If it had not been for the difference in their size he
could not have told which was Hauck and which was Brokaw, for even on
Hauck, Tara had vented his rage after Baree had killed him. Neither bore
very much the semblance of a man just now--it seemed incredible that
claw and fang could have worked such destruction, and he went suddenly
back to the door to see that the Girl was not following him. Then he
looked again. Henry lay at his feet across the fallen saplings of the
battered door, his head twisted completely under him--or gone. It was
Henry's rifle he picked up. He searched for cartridges then. It was a
sickening task. He found nearly fifty of them on the three, and went out
with the pack and the rifle. He put the pack over his shoulders before
he returned to the rock, and paused only for a moment, when he rejoined
the Girl.
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