There was something like a flicker of the eyelid as Kars acquiesced with a nod. Except for that his rugged face was deadly serious. He filled his pipe with a leisureliness which seemed incompatible with the conditions of the moment. Bill seemed to be engrossed in the study of the stove. Murray had turned to the Padre.
"Not a word to the women. We don't need to scare them. This thing's got to be fixed sudden and sharp."
A moment later he was gone.
The Padre was climbing into a heavy overcoat. The night was chill enough, and the little missionary had more warmth in his heart than he had in his blood channels. He moved across to the door to do his part of the work, when Kars' voice arrested him.
"Say, Padre," he cried, "don't feel worried too much. Murray'll fix things."
His eyes were smiling as the priest turned and looked into them. Bill was smiling, too.
"They are twenty miles back—on the river?"
The priest's demand was significant. The smiles of these men had raised a doubt in his mind.
"Sure."
"Then—the position's bad."