Snatching up one of the pictures from
the table, she thrust it into Philip's hand. It was one of the
fighting pictures.
"So it's YOU?" he said, smiling at her and trying to keep the
tremble of excitement out of his voice. "It's you they want, eh?
And they must want you bad. I've never heard of those little
devils coming within a hundred miles of this far south. They MUST
want you bad. Now--I wonder WHY?" His voice was calm again. It
thrilled him to see how utterly she was judging the situation by
the movement of his lips and the sound of his voice. With him
unafraid she would be unafraid. He judged that quickly. Her eyes
bared her faith in him, and suddenly he reached out and took her
face between his two hands, and laughed softly, while each instant
he feared the smash of a javelin through the window. "I like to
see that look in your eyes," he went on. "And I'm almost glad you
can't understand me, for I couldn't lie to you worth a cent. I
understand those pictures now--and I think we're in a hell of a
fix.
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