"Yeah!" I shouted into my mike.
"Holcomb?"
"Yeah, for Christ's sake! Where are you?"
"Your right—about a hundred yards. Start walking over here. I'll talk you in."
I started off at a lope, kicking my way over the rough ground. That voice was pitifully weak.
I found him, curled around a rock, his head and arm supported on a rifle that was leaned against the stone.
"Holcomb—"