The light was growing on him now. The wind blew on his damp forehead.
He could see the round of sky, blue against the black arch of brick.
Warily he peeped through the screen of tamarisk that veiled the opening.
The creek lay a few feet below. Across it, the smooth side of the Wish flowed upward.
A sentinel crowned the little hill, but his face was seaward.
Otherwise the coast was clear.
No!
On the slope of the Wish, facing him, a man was lying.
II
The man was lying on his back half-way up the slope, reading a little brown book.
Kit could not see his face; but he had no need.