"Very well, at sunrise, then," he said, and turned away to lie down again in his old place.
The moon went down, and, as Lumley had said, there followed an hour of darkness in which the stars shone forth with undimmed splendour.
Gray lay on the ground staring up at them. A little way off Lumley was stealthily watching him, wondering what his thoughts were. But Gray had forgotten Lumley—he was thinking of Harding.
CHAPTER XI.
A RUTHLESS VILLAIN.
It was just before sunrise that they started on their way; Lumley riding the horse, and Gray walking by the horse's side. It was with great difficulty that Gray had managed to get his companion on the horse. Lumley had made it more difficult than it need have been. He was anxious that Gray should believe his foot was much worse than it really was. The night before he had found himself quite capable of getting rapidly along on hands and feet, and even of standing for a moment, holding on by the horse.
"Goes like a lamb, don't he?" he said to Gray as they went across the plain. "No fear of his kicking up his heels again, is there?"
"Not much," said Gray with a pitiful look at the poor worn-out creature.
"Well, he won't run off with anything this time," said Lumley with a laugh; "I've taken care of that. But he'll go straight for the water again, that's what he'll do, and carry me with him."