His face had shrunk to livid whiteness and was as thin as a knife. Two black hollows showed 'round his eyes, two in his wasted cheeks. His bloodless lips were set tight and his hair—almost in a night—had become streaked with grey.
That grey hair was the price of the mental torment he had endured. That face was the face of the man on whom depended everything in Black Elk, that raw skeleton actually all that stood between Lancaster and his enemies. Then God help Lancaster!
Exhausted, he turned back to bed. How he reached it he never knew.
Presently came Forshaw's knock.
He braced himself to fight his great fight.
"Come in!"
A moment later he found himself haltingly dictating orders to the little Adjutant.
Chapter VI
I