He needed only a club
and a shield and the skin of a beast about his loins to transform
him into prehistoric man. At least these were his first
impressions--impressions roused by thought of Marie-Anne's slim,
beautiful body crushed close in the embrace of that laughing,
powerful-lunged giant. Then the reaction swept over him. St.
Pierre was not a monster, even though his disturbed mind
unconsciously made an effort to conceive him as such. There were
gladness and laughter in his face. There was the contagion of joy
and good cheer in the voice that boomed over the water. Laughter
and shouts answered it from the shore. The rowers in Marie-Anne's
York boat burst into a wild and exultant snatch of song and made
their oars fairly crack. There came a solitary yell from Andre,
the Broken Man, who was close to the head of the raft now. And
from the raft itself came a slowly swelling volume of sound, the
urge and voice and exultation of red-blooded men a-thrill with the
glory of this day and the wild freedom of their world. The truth
came to David. St. Pierre Boulain was the beloved Big Brother of
his people.
He waited, his muscles tense, his jaws set tight.
Pages:
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192