“Listen,” I told him. “You wanted to get that lettuce cached before dawn, and it’s there. But if there’s any chance that I’ll be sent to get it alone, we’d better not go on until daylight. I’ll recognize the rooster’s tail, that’s all right, but how will I find it if I’ve traveled both approaches in the dark?”
“You’ll find it,” he declared. “It’s only two miles to Rijeka, and a trail all the way. I should have said very satisfactory. Come on.”
He moved. I got up and followed. It was still pitch dark. In half a mile I realized that we were hitting no more upgrades; it was all down. In another half a mile it was practically level. A dog barked, not far off. There was space around us — my eyes had accommodated to the limit, but I felt it rather than saw it — and underfoot wasn’t rock or gravel, more like packed earth.
A little farther on Wolfe stopped, turned, and spoke. “We’ve entered the valley of the Moracha.” He turned on his flashlight and aimed it ahead. “See that fork in the trail? Left joins the road to Rijeka. We’ll take it later; now we’ll find a place to rest.” He turned the light off and moved. At the fork he went right.
This was according to plan as disclosed to me. There was no inn at Rijeka, which was only a village, and we were looking for a haystack. Ten minutes earlier we would have had to use the flashlights to find one, but now, as the trail became a road, there was suddenly light enough to see cart ruts, and in another hundred paces Wolfe turned left into a field, and I followed. The dim outline of the haystack was the wrong shape, but it was no time to be fussy, and I circled to the side away from the road, knelt, and started pulling out handfuls. Soon I had a niche deep enough for Wolfe. I asked him, “Do you wish to eat before going to your room?”
“No.” He was grim. “I’m too far gone.”
“A bite of chocolate would make a new man of you.”
“No. I need help.”
I got erect and helped him off with his knapsack. He removed his jacket, got into his sweater, put the jacket back on, and down he went — first to one knee, then both, then out flat. Getting into the niche was more than a simple rolling operation, since its mattress of hay was a good eight inches above ground level, but he made it.
“I’ll take your shoes off,” I offered.