"Oh."
"Of course, this is somewhat different. If we don't get out by ourselves, whoever finds us need only say, 'X marks the spot.'"
Morley didn't bother answering. No comment was necessary. He knew as well as Madsen that whatever margin of safety they possessed had been shaved to the vanishing point.
They made twenty miles in a forced march, slept, ate, and then traveled again. The stunted forest grew thinner, and occasionally they crossed open spaces acres in extent. Twice they saw, in the distance, animals resembling terrestrial deer, and on the second occasion Morley tried a fruitless shot. They slept and ate again, and now the last of the rations were gone. They went on.
As they made southing, the dull sun crept higher in the sky by infinitesimal degrees. Now the going became tougher. Patches of evil looking muskeg began to appear in the scrub, and the stunted trees themselves gradually gave way to six foot ferns. There were occasional signs that some creature had been foraging on the lush growth. When they found fresh tracks in the soft footing, Morley unlimbered the rifle, and the two men trod more softly. By that time either would have cheerfully made a meal on one of the miniature flying dragons, alive and kicking, and the thought of a juicy steak from some local herbivore was as soul stirring as the sight of Mecca to a true believer.
Both men whirled at a sudden crashing on their left. Something like a large splay footed kangaroo broke cover, and went loping away, clearing the fern tops at every bound. In one motion Morley whipped up the rifle and fired. There was an earsplitting report, the leaper kept right on going, under forced draught, and the two castaways stared in consternation at a rifle that resembled a bundle of metallic macaroni more than it did a firearm.
Madsen spoke first. "You probably got some mud in the barrel when we stopped last time," he accused. "Look at us now."
Morley started to mumble an apology, but Madsen cut him short. "Look at us now," he repeated, with all stops out. "It was bad before, now it's practically hopeless. Our only long range gun! What do we do now if we do find game—dig pits for it?"
If a man can be said to slink without changing his position, Morley slunk. Madsen continued, double fortissimo.