'Do you give it?' he demanded of Kemp.
Kemp's sallow face had gone white, but whether from fear or rage was doubtful. 'Yes,' he said in a low voice, 'I give my parole.'
They turned, and with Kemp between them, set out at a sharp pace in the direction from which they had come.
From the distance rifles still snapped, and a couple of miles away to the south-west field-guns were booming. But all around was strangely quiet. Ken began to feel a trifle uneasy. He realised that they had got a long way ahead of their comrades, and that the latter had already been recalled.
'Quite nice and peaceful up here, eh, Ken?' said Roy with his cheerful grin.
Before Ken could reply there came a shot from somewhere quite close at hand, and with a sharp cry Ken dropped his rifle.
'Winged, old chap?' said Roy, turning quickly.
As he did so Kemp made a dash, and hurled himself up the slope to the left.
'Never mind me!' cried Ken. 'Catch Kemp. Shoot him. Stop him anyhow.'
Roy flung up his rifle and took a snap shot.