She stared. "You?"
"Yes. Sworn in as a deputy constable."
"But—he didn't say you were going when I spoke to him about it a little while ago."
"He didn't know. I've made up my mind since."
In point of fact he had come to a decision three seconds before he announced it.
Her soft eyes applauded him. "That'll be fine. His friends won't worry so much if you're with him. But—of course you know it'll be a horrible trip—and dangerous."
"No picnic," he admitted.
She continued to look at him, her cheeks flushed and her face vivid.
"You must like Win a lot. Not many men would go."
"We're good friends," Morse answered dryly. "Anyhow, I owe West something on my own account."
The real reason why he was going he had not given. During the days she had been lost he had been on the rack of torture. He did not want her to suffer months of such mental distress while the man she loved was facing alone the peril of his grim work in the white Arctic desert.