"Don't trust him, for God's sake, Kay," she breathed.
He nodded, felt forward with cautious handgroping toward a damp patch of moss, and drew himself thither, making no sound among the dry leaves.
"Watch the woods behind us, Yellow-hair," he whispered.
The girl fumbled in her tattered pocket and produced a pistol. Then she sat up cross-legged on her blanket, rested one elbow across her knee, and, cocking the poised weapon, swept the southern woods with calm, bright eyes.
Now the man in Swiss uniform called once more across the chasm: "Attention, Americans I I know you are there; I smell your fire. Also, what you have done is plain enough for me to see—that thing lying over there on the edge of the rocks with corpse-flies already whirling over it! And you had better answer me, Kay McKay!"
Then the man in the forest who now was lying flat behind a birch-tree, answered calmly:
"You, in your Swiss uniform of artillery, over there, what do you want of me?"
"So you are there!" cried the Swiss, striving to pierce the foliage with eager eyes. "It is you, is it not, Kay McKay?"
"I've answered, have I not?"
"Are you indeed then that same Kay McKay of the Intelligence
Service, United States Army?"