“Wait,” said Curlie touching the girl’s arm lightly. “There is no need for haste. They are unloading rifles. Those long boxes could contain nothing else. The ammunition remains on board. Without it they can do nothing. I will be back,” he took a long breath, “very soon.”
The next instant he was lost in the shadows. He did not for a moment doubt the wisdom and justice of the aged black woman’s plan. His only thought was for the safety of the daring girl who was willing to risk so much for a country that was not her own.
“If the plan fails, if they see the descending arrow and trace its course,” he told himself, “if they come storming up the cliff and block our one way of escape, we are lost. I must find a second way down.”
He was gone but ten minutes. To the waiting girl it seemed an hour.
“There is another way; very steep and dangerous,” he said, “but a way of escape I believe. Shall I shoot the arrow?”
“Shoot the arrow.” Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
“They may discover us, may surround the rock. I am not afraid for myself, but for you—”
“Shoot the arrow.” He felt the warm pressure of her hand on his arm.
“Shoot the arrow,” she repeated.
“They may guess the source of the arrow. Your home may be destroyed.”