A pitiful voice replied from the obscurity. Its panic expressed itself in a thin rising inflection that became almost a squeal.
"Don't shoot!—don't shoot!"
"Come out into the road," commanded Sam. "Cover 'im, Bill," he added.
The figure obeyed, was now slightly more visible against the light reflected from the white road.
"What are you doin' 'ere?" asked Sam.
The voice became rapid in nervous explanation.
"I'm lame—got lamed miles back there—I was 'urryin' to rejoin my regiment——"
"I don't think," said Sam sternly. "You're a bloomin' deserter, that's wot you are."
"Oh, chuck it, Sam!" said Bill suddenly. "More the merrier! Let's get into this bloomin' public—I'm fair parched for a drink. Come along, matey—don't take no notice of 'im. You didn't 'arf give us a scare, though, my word!" he added, as he moved towards the door of the inn.