At the first sentence Bill’s face had hardened. “You don’t have to preach caution to a man that’s been on the dodge long as I have,” he muttered bitterly, under cover of lighting a cigarette. “Shoot. What d’you think—that it’s an officer, maybe?”
“I’m not thinking past the field glasses that I believe are focused on us,” Abington parried, rising and standing so that his back was to the ridge while he held up his watch before Bill’s face. “He may think I’m trying to hypnotize you, but it’s an excuse. Look right past this watch, to a point between the second and third little pinnacles on the ridge. See anything?”
“Something moved, in the notch just below that pinnacle. I got it against the sky for a minute. There ain’t any shine, though. Might have been a sheep.”
Abington put away his watch, stooped and shouldered his pack.
Bill slipped his arms through the rope loops and wriggled his own burden into place on his back as he got up. “Wouldn’t think they’d be lookin’ for me away down here,” he said uneasily, after a few rods of silent plodding. “Not unless you—” He sent an involuntary glance toward his companion.
“Unless I informed on you when I went after supplies, and arranged for your capture after I had benefited by your information,” Abington answered the look. “You don’t really think that, Bill.”
“I don’t know why I wouldn’t think it, if somebody’s planted up there watching for us with glasses,” Bill retorted, not more than half in earnest but yielding to the ugly mood born of nerve strain and muscle weariness.
“Of course, you can think any idiotic thing you choose,” Abington returned, in that tolerant tone which he could summon when he wished to bite into a man’s self-esteem. “Any other brilliant ideas on the subject, explaining why, if I were contemplating treachery, I should call your attention to that light on the ridge up there?”
“Yeah, I might have one or two,” Bill growled. “I was a fool to start across here in broad daylight. Now, if they come after me, I ain’t even got a gun!”