"Yep. There's going to be no play game this time. Hellbeam's yacht's waiting on you. You'll take the sea trip. It's safer that way."
"Yes."
The mitted hands had dropped to the missionary's sides. He moistened his lips, which seemed to have become curiously dry. Once, and once only, there was a flicker of the eyes as he looked into the face of his captor. Otherwise he gave no sign. His time had come. He knew that. He had always known it would come. There was neither heat nor resentment in him against these men who had finally hunted him down.
"How do we travel?" he asked quietly. "You've shot up my leader."
The other nodded. He understood the tone of complaint and regret in which the trail man spoke of his dog. He grinned maliciously.
"We'll shoot up the rest for you. They'd only feed the wolves if we left 'em. We've two dog trains with us. Don't let that worry. You best get your kit loosed from your sled."
The prisoner turned to obey, but the agent changed his mind. He laughed.
"No. Guess the boys can fix that. It's safer that way. You move right on into yonder bluff. And you best not try making any break. There ain't only Hellbeam in this. I haven't forgotten—No. 10 Camp. Your game's plumb up."
"Yes, plumb up."
Father Adam obeyed. He moved away, followed closely by the man who had hunted him for so many years. There was no escape. He knew that. The reckoning he had always foreseen had overtaken him. So, without a word of protest, he passed for the last time into the twilight of the woods.