'Got his monkey up pretty thoroughly,' said Roy with a laugh. Then seeing how grave Ken's face was.
'Don't worry, dear chap. You couldn't possibly have done anything else. And as for a bullet in the heart, what is it? It don't take long and it don't hurt, and we can always feel we've played the game.'
As he spoke he came closer and laid his shackled hands on Ken's shoulder.
'Thank you, Roy,' said Ken in a very low voice. 'You—you've helped me a lot. It—it's father I'm thinking of.'
'I know. But after all he isn't dead yet. And like as not this swab Henkel may get wiped out before he has the chance of doing him down.'
Silence fell between them. They sat with their backs against the wall, their hearts too full to talk. Ken's thoughts were with his father and his younger brother Anthony; Roy's were back in New Zealand, picturing the sunny plains and wild ranges around his home, the brawling rivers and the white sheep grazing on the great grass lands.
The last rays of the sun shone through the one small window of the hut, and presently came the tramp of men outside.
The corporal opened the door, the boys walked out, and guarded on either side were marched once more up the foul, narrow street to the higher ground above.
Beyond the house where their mock trial had taken place was a vineyard surrounded by a stone wall. Against this they were posted while the firing party was detailed.
Henkel, his bloodshot eyes aflame with ill-suppressed rage, stalked up to them.