'Lots of his class around,' said Lamont, thinking of the heated faces and desperate struggle at Fish Creek.
'And they're darned sight better-hearted than the good ones that mope at home. Mind you, Lamont, not a word to the boy. Not a word, or you'd spoil the racket.'
Justin called to them from the slime-green rock which the big fir shadowed.
Lamont waved his hand. 'I reckon he's found,' he said shortly.
'What are you driving at anyway? Why should he want to stay out there? Goldam! you're not making out—'
The sentence unfinished, he hurried away over the loose shingle. Lamont followed more leisurely, and presently they both stood at the half-breed's side.
Winton was still at the post of duty, clutching his cold rifle, with face turned towards the colours of the dawn. McAuliffe stooped, panting, then burst into a hearty laugh.
'Just as I said right along. He's played right out, and gone off to sleep. Well, well, I hate to wake him, but we must be getting across.'
Still laughing, he knelt and turned the young man over by his shoulder. But the sleeping figure was of a board-like stiffness. Then his red face became grey tinted, and settled in fear.
For the eyes which looked up at his were unclosed and covered with light film; the forehead was like marble, over which the hair trembled in the raw air of morning, like grass on the dry rock; but the ears heard no sound of McAuliffe's deep cry, the stiff and parted lips gave back no cheerful word of welcome.