"Hugh!" came the whispered call. "Hugh, are you there? Are you safe? Who are you carrying, Jack? Is it—"
I came first, holding Nikka's feet. Hugh and Watkins, supporting his shoulders, were indistinguishable in the rear. It struck me as mildly humorous that Betty's first anxiety should be so ingenuously revealed.
"Hugh's all right," I answered cautiously. "Nikka's hurt, though. Keep quiet, you idiot."
"Thank God!" she said inconsequentially, and sat down on the rocks and commenced to cry softly.
Hugh exploded in a sentimental curse.
"Here, Watty," he growled, "you'll have to manage by yourself."
"Very good, your ludship," muttered Watkins.
I felt Nikka's body sag, and looked back. Watkins was plodding determinedly after me, panting so loudly under his burden as to lead me to cast a wary eye at the lightless bulk of Tokalji's house. Hugh and Betty had melted into a single shadow-figure from which came vague murmurs and gasped interjections.
"Damn!" I grunted. "What a hell of a time to pick for making love!"
"Quite right, Mister Jack, sir," panted Watkins.