“I trust your wounds are not serious, my dear Armitage—”
Armitage, sitting on a boulder, turned his eyes wearily upon Durand, whose wrists Claiborne was knotting together with a strap. The officer spun the man around viciously.
“You beast, if you address Mr. Armitage again I’ll choke you!”
Chauvenet, sitting up and staring dully about, was greeted ironically by Durand:
“Prisoners, my dearest Jules; prisoners, do you understand? Will you please arrange with dear Armitage to let us go home and be good?”
Claiborne emptied the contents of Durand’s pockets upon the ground and tossed a flask to Armitage.
“We will discuss matters at the bungalow. They always go to the nearest farm-house to sign the treaty of peace. Let us do everything according to the best traditions.”
A moment later Oscar ran in from the direction of the gap, to find the work done and the party ready to leave.
“Where is the Servian?” demanded Armitage.
The soldier saluted, glanced from Chauvenet to Durand, and from Claiborne to Armitage.