mused in grim satisfaction. "And, unless they can hail some
passing boat, they're due to stay there till Hade or Standish
makes another trip out .... Standish!"

At the name he went hot with wrath. Now that he had achieved
the task of winning free from his prison and from his jailors
his mind swung back to the man he had rescued and who had
sought his death. Anger at the black infamy burned fiercely
in Brice's soul. His whole brain and body ached for redress,
for physical wild-beast punishment of the ingrate. The impulse
dulled his every other faculty. It made him oblivious to the
infinitely more important work he had laid out for himself.

No man can be forever normal when anger takes the reins. And,
for the time, Gavin Brice was deaf and blind to every motive
or caution, and centered his entire faculties on the yearning
to punish Milo Standish. He had fought like a tiger and had
risked his own life to save Standish from the unknown
assailant's knife thrust. Milo, in gross stupidity, had
struck him senseless. And now, coldbloodedly, he had helped
to plan for him the most terrible form of death by torture to
which even an Apache could have stooped. Small wonder that
righteous indignation flared high within the fugitive!

Straight into the fading glory of the sunset. Brice was
steering his wallowing and leaky launch. The boat was
evidently constructed and used for the transporting of fruit
from the key to the mainland. She was slow and of deep
draught. But she was cutting down the distance now between
Gavin and the shore.