“What will they do now?” He raced on.
He was to know soon enough. From somewhere in that expanse of pasture a pencil of light began circling.
“It’s a searchlight from their plane. I’m lost, perhaps.
“But no. Perhaps not.”
With one eye on the light, he moved slowly forward. When at last it sought his fence row and followed it, there was nothing moving there. The light did not pause as it passed across a log or a stone in the fence row. It moved to its limit in that direction and then began searching other corners.
“They won’t suspect that the bag is back yonder,” he told himself. “Think I have it.”
For a time, ready at any moment to play ’possum, he crept forward. Coming to an intersection of fences, he turned east.
At last he sprang to his feet and ran again.
Quite out of breath, and beyond the range of the light, he slowed down.
“A mile and a half,” he whispered. “Covered half of it already. Have to use my flashlight to find the bag. More danger. They may see it. Oh, well, my legs are as good as theirs. But guns!” He shuddered.