'Never heed. Did ye kill yer man?'
'Ay.'
'Same here. . . . In the back. . . . Ma Goad!'
'Ha'e we ta'en their trench?'
'Ay; but no enough o' us to haud it.
We're back in the auld place. Better luck next time. No safe to strike a match here; could dae fine wi' a fag.'
There was a silence between them, broken at last by Macgregor.
'Hoo did ye find me, Wullie? What way are ye no back in the trench?'
'Wasna gaun back wi'oot ye—I seen ye drap—even if ye had been a corp. . . . Been snokin' aroun' seekin' ye for Guid kens hoo lang. I'm fair hingin' wi' glaur.'
'. . . I'm obleeged to ye, Wullie, but ye shouldna ha'e done it.
Whauraboots are we?'