illy Cameron. "We use that road, and get to the farm,
and what then? Surrender?"

"Not on your life. We hide in the barn. That's all."

"That's enough. They'll search the place, automatically. You're talking
suicide, you know."

But his mind was working rapidly. He was a country boy, and he knew
barns. There would be other outbuildings, too, probably a number of
them. The Germans always had plenty of them. And the information was too
detailed to be put aside lightly.

"When does he think they will meet again?"

"That's the point," Pink said eagerly. "The family has been all over the
town this morning. It is going on a picnic, and he says those picnics of
theirs last half the night. What he got from the noise they were making
was that they were raising dust again, and something's on for to-night."

"They'll leave somebody there. Their stock has to be looked after."

"This fellow says they drop everything and go. The whole outfit. They're
as busy raising an alibi as the other lot is raising the devil."

But Willy Cameron was a Scot, and hard-headed.

"It looks too simple, Pink," he said reflectively. He sat for some time,
filling and lighting his pipe, and considering as he did so. He was
older than Pink; not much, but he felt extremely mature and very
responsible.

"What do we know about Cusick?" he asked, finally.

"One of the best men we've got. They've fired his place once, and he's
keen to get them."

"You're anxious to go?"

"I'm going," said Pink, cheerfully.

"Then I'd better go along and look after you. But I tell you how I see
it. After I've done that I'll go as far as you like. Either there is
nothing to it and we're fools for our pains, or there's a lot to it,
and in that case we are a pair of double-distilled lunatics to go there
alone."

Pink laughed joyously.

Life had been very dull for him since his return from France. He had
done considerable suffering and more thinking than was usual with him,
but he had had no action. But behind his boyish zest there was something
more, something he hid as he did the fact that he sometimes said his
prayers; a deep and holy thing, that always gave him a lump in his
throat at Retreat, when the flag came slowly down and the long lines of
men stood at attention. Something he was half ashamed and half proud of,
love of his country.

* * * * *

At the same time another conversation was going on in the rear