"Hallo, Jack," he greeted Bradby. "Been stirring long?"
"No," said Bradby shortly. Then, perhaps fancying his tone was a little too abrupt, he continued, "I've just been for a bit of a tour round."
"What do you think of the place?" Cumshaw asked casually. But he did not look up at his mate; he kept his eyes studiously on the ground.
"Just the sort of place we could make our headquarters," said Bradby, with an enthusiasm that even the forced restraint of his tone could not hide.
"I don't think we'll have much need of headquarters once this is over and done with," Cumshaw hinted.
"Maybe not," Bradby replied.
Cumshaw turned to the plank bed and lifted up the saddle-bags, one in each hand. "Don't you think we should get rid of these?" he remarked.
"I'd almost forgotten about them," Bradby answered with an assumed indifference. "Yes, we'll 'tend to them as soon as we've had something to eat."
"While you're talking about something to eat," Cumshaw told him, putting the bags down again, "I'd like to remind you that we're right on the last of the tucker. There's just enough flour for the day."
"I wouldn't worry about that," Bradby said. "There's sure to be plenty of game about in a thickly-wooded country like this."