"Cheer up, lad," said Warrington, and pulled at his moustache and glared at the darkness; "only a few hours till daybreak.... Pity you're six foot four in your boots and solid in proportion. I'm not equal to two miles with you on my back, my dainty midget."
"Can't see how you got me this far.... Why don't you sheer off now and get back, and——Oh, God! No! Warrington!... You're not going?"
"Another word like that, my son, and I leave you for Mr. and Mrs. Pathan and all the little Pathans to play with."
"All right—all right, I won't.... Let me hold your boot—I can hardly see you. Oh, Warry, what a funk I am; all the bit o' pluck I had's run out of the leak in my tunic—and I am beastly cold."
Warrington knelt beside him and cursed beneath his breath, and felt his head and hands. The former was very cold and damp, the latter were very wet and warm.
"I must let them know they're wanted, Vic!" he muttered.
The latter did not hear him.
"It'll be in to-morrow's despatches," he murmured. "'Missing: Lieutenant Beverley Warrington and Second Lieutenant Vicary of the ——' What's up, Warry?"
His companion had touched his forehead lightly with his lips, had risen to his feet, and, with his arm raised above his head, had emptied his revolver into the silence of the night.
"They'll know there's a British officer where that revolver is," he said, cheerily.