He straightened up and looked around again. It was rolling farm country on all four sides, but one look told the pitiful story. War had prevented the land from being worked, and acres and acres of ground were simply going to seed. It was not that fact, however, that caused a look of disgust to come into his face. It was the stone wall, which was no more than a hundred yards long and seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever. There was not another stone wall to be seen in any direction.
"That's Dawson luck for you!" he grunted aloud. "The only stone wall for miles around, but me, I'd hit it sure as shooting. Oh well, I could have broken my neck, I suppose. And at least I don't have to dig a hole to bury the stuff."
As he spoke the last, he started gathering up the tangle of parachute harness, shroud lines, and silk. Then, together with the oxygen mask and tank, that had somehow been twisted clear off his face and around so that it hung down his back, he carefully stuffed everything under the bottom of the wall where it undoubtedly would not be discovered for the next hundred years or so. And probably by that time it would be turned into dust, anyway, and be completely unrecognizable.
When Dave straightened up again, a very urgent and very familiar feeling came to him. It struck him square in the stomach. In short, he suddenly realized that he was as hungry as a wolf. For a brief second fright came to him again. But when he stuck his hand inside his shirt he grinned and sighed with relief. Before leaving England, he and Freddy had been supplied with a small compact case of specially prepared emergency rations that would last them several days in a crisis. To make sure he wouldn't lose it, each had strapped the case about his waist under his shirt. Dave's was still there.
He pulled it out, selected a bar of energy-building chocolate and ate it hungrily. He was tempted to attack a second bar, but will-power refused to permit him to do so. He put the case of emergency rations back in place, fixed his direction from the rising sun and set out across the fields toward a small hill a mile or two away. The lingering shadows of night were completely gone when he finally reached the top of the hill and paused to get his breath. A moment or so later he climbed part way up a tree and stared hard and long at the surrounding countryside.
Some five miles to the north lay the southern outskirts of the city of Antwerp, but for the moment he wasn't interested in Antwerp. The land to the east, and west, and in the direction whence he had come, interested him most. He hoped against hope that from his look-out post he might spot a solitary figure making his way across country toward Antwerp, a lone figure dressed in the clothes of a Belgian peasant refugee. In other words, he prayed that the miracle might come to pass—that he might see and recognize Freddy Farmer trudging toward Antwerp.
His prayer was not answered, however, and the miracle did not come to pass. He saw miles and miles of Belgian countryside, but not the slightest sign of anyone who might be Freddy Farmer. Oddly enough, he did not see a single human being; not even a dog, nor a farm animal. Save for the darkish blur to the north that was Antwerp, he might have been staring across a completely deserted land. Presently he climbed down to the ground and stood there fighting grimly with his thoughts.
His thoughts were like so many dancing demons that whirled around inside his brain and continually jabbed him with the sharp pointed spears they carried. Where was Freddy Farmer? Had he been able to bail out safely? Had he landed safely? Was Freddy dead? Had he landed in some trees, by any chance, and right now might he be lying helpless and crippled only a short distance away?
The thoughts brought tears of helpless rage to Dave's eyes, and it was hard to beat them back. He tried desperately to argue with himself. He tried to point out to that other side of him that it was hours since he and Freddy had stepped off from the Wellington, and that Freddy was probably in Antwerp by now and making his cautious way to their meeting place at Sixteen Rue Chartres. Certainly that was possible. That stone wall had knocked him out for hours, and he was simply late getting started. Sure, Freddy had landed safe as could be and was now in Antwerp waiting for him. Thoughts and arguments! Thoughts and arguments! They helped one minute, and drove him deeper into the depths of worried despair the next.
"Well, just standing here won't get you any of the answers!" he finally grated at himself. "Get the lead out of your pants and start going places. Don't stand here all day and mope, you fathead!"