“That is old wives’ babble.”

“Maybe, Loskiel. Yet, I know I shall not leave this wilderness alive.”

“Lord!” said I, attempting to jest. “You should set up as a rival to Amochol and tell us all our fortunes.”

He smiled — and the effort distorted his pale, handsome face.

“I think it will happen at Chinisee,” he said quietly.

“What will happen?”

“The end of the world for me, Loskiel.”

“It is not like you, Boyd, to speak in such a manner. Only lately have I ever heard from you a single note of such foreboding.”