Part 54 (1/2)
”I had better dress it before night,” said Evelyn.
”I dressed it at noon. I won't disturb it again to-day,” said Gray, thanking her with his eloquent blue eyes.
McKay said: ”So you found the place where I once slid off?”
”It's plain enough, windfall and general wreckage mark it.”
”You say it's a dozen miles west of here?”
”About.”
”That's odd,” said McKay thoughtfully. ”I had believed I recognised this ravine. But these deep gulfs all look more or less alike. And I saw it only once and then under hair-raising circ.u.mstances.”
Gray smiled, but Evelyn did not. McKay said:
”So that's where they winged you, was it?”
”Yes. I was about to negotiate the slide--you remember the V-shaped slate cleft?”
”Yes.”
”Well, I was just starting into that when the rifle cracked and I jumped for a tree with a broken wing and a bad scare.”
”You saw the man?”
”I did later. He came over to look for dead game, and I ached to let him go; but it was too risky with Les Errues swarming alive with Boches, and me with the stomach-sickness of a shot-up man. Figure it out, McKay, for yourself.”
”Of course, you did the wise thing and the right one.”
”I think so. I travelled until I fainted.” He turned and glanced around. ”Strangely enough I saw black right here!--fell into this hole by accident, and have made it my home since then.”
”It was a G.o.dsend,” said the girl.
”It was, Miss Erith,” said Gray, resting his eloquent eyes on her.
”And you say,” continued McKay, ”that the Boche are sitting up day and night over that slide?”
”Day and night. The swine seem to know it's the only way out. I go every day, every night. Always the way is blocked; always I discover one or more of their riflemen there in ambush while the rest of the pack are ranging Les Errues.”
”And yet,” said McKay, ”we've got to go that way, sooner or later.”
There was a silence: then Gray nodded.
”Yes,” he said, ”but it is a question of waiting.”
”There is a moon to-night,” observed Evelyn Erith.