CHAPTER XVII
Marlin regained consciousness in the camp. He was stiff and weak and sick with the pain of his ankle. DuChane and the girl stood over him.
"Sorry, old man," DuChane said regretfully. "You put up a good fight, but I had the advantage."
Marlin made no reply. But in the days that followed, while slowly regaining his strength, he observed the pair. It was clear that he was definitely out of the picture. The girl, Norma, taciturn as ever, nevertheless followed DuChane with her eyes and seemed to dwell on his every word. Daily she accompanied him on the hunt, becoming as adept as a man with spear and club.
Sometimes she returned early to prepare the evening meal. On one such occasion Marlin abruptly asked:
"You like him? You're satisfied?"
The girl, in her single brief garment of skins, dropped down beside him. She was tanned and strong-looking now, and a new radiance had replaced the old sullen look on her face.
"You found me, didn't you?" she said slowly. "It was you who gave me back to life—and I've never thanked you."
Marlin gingerly flexed his injured ankle. "Forget the thanks," he returned gruffly.