“If we’re stuck, we’ll just have to halt and camp down till morning,” he said. “Bit rotten for you, I know, but there’s no danger. And it isn’t as if it was cold, is it?”
“No,” she said doubtfully. “But I’m afraid you’ll be chilled through. I’m not very warm, and I’m dry enough, where you’re saturated through.”
“I’m certainly carryin’ as many points of rain about with me as a Weather Bureau Report,” he agreed; “but I don’t mind—rather enjoy it. And this is a heap better sport than riding round a fence all day and every day.”
“I think I’ll get down and walk a bit,” she said. “I’m getting cramped sitting, and the walk will warm me up.”
“So it will,” he said, “and it’ll ease the horses. Poor brutes, it’s heavy goin’ in this soft stuff.”
He halted the buggy and helped her down, and then they plodded on again, their feet sliding and slipping on the wet ground. It had begun to rain again, softly but persistently, and the light was fading rapidly. The ground was alive with swarms of rabbits and paddy-melons, and once they saw a fox sneaking away from them.
“D’you notice those things are all making off to the right?” said Dolly. “It must be higher ground up that way. I’ve half a mind to follow them. Can you make up your mind to a night of it, Miss Ess? I’d be afraid to chance you swimming it in the dark.”
“Just whatever you think, Dolly,” she said bravely. “I’ll leave everything to you, and do just whatever you say.”
“You’re a brick, and a real good plucked ’un, Miss Ess,” he said warmly. “We’ll stick it out for the night, then. I’m sure it’s the wisest.”
He edged off to the right, and presently, when they came to the water again, turned further to the right, and kept along the edge of it. It was almost dark now, and they were plodding along in silence when Ess said suddenly, “Listen—what is that?”