Conacher repeated these instructions over again, and made Mary-Lou say it all after him. Both he and Loseis feared that in the unnerved red girl they had but a broken reed to lean upon. However they had no other. Once clear of that den of horror they hoped that she might recover herself somewhat.
Then the packs were made. Each was to take a blanket with a small package of food rolled up inside it. In addition Conacher had his gun and an ammunition belt containing a hundred shells, and a small cooking-pot packed with matches, tea and tobacco. Loseis was to take a smaller belt of shells and a small ax. Mary-Lou was given Conacher’s smaller gun and ammunition for it. Everything was to be strapped on their backs, in order to leave both arms free.
“How shall we know the proper moment to start out?” asked Loseis.
“The moon does not rise to-night until after midnight,” said Conacher. “The darkest time will be about two hours after sundown. I will mark a candle and light it when the sun goes down. When it has burned two inches we will make a break.”
“That will only give us an hour or so before the moon comes up.”
“The first few minutes will decide everything,” he said, smiling at her.
They were ready, of course, long before it was time to set out. Conacher made it his job to keep up the spirits of his little party. He suggested having another meal, but no one ate but himself. After that there was nothing to do but sit down and look at the candle. Very hard on the nerves. A half a dozen times Loseis sprang up like a haggard little panther, crying:
“It’s perfectly dark. Let’s start.”
To which Conacher would always reply in his calm and cheerful style: “No! When you settle on a thing, you must stick to it.”
As the candle burned down towards the fateful mark, the three pairs of eyes were fixed on it in painful intensity, and three hearts rose slowly into three throats. The last ten minutes were the hardest.