, Jack. We're just as likely to
strike something as good or even better during the course of the day.
The whole country-side is honeycombed with hiding-places; it's like a
rabbit-warren."

"There's nothing like being an optimist," Bradby said. "Have it your
way, Abel. Now the sooner you find some nice secure little spot the
better for us, I'm thinking. For one thing the food's running short, as
you just remarked, and for another I don't intend keeping up this
dodging game for ever. We can't last; they'll wear us down."

"That's supposing they don't get tired and go home," said the cheerful
Mr. Cumshaw.

"Not much chance of that," Mr. Bradby retorted. "I only wish they
would."

During the morning Bradby's horse developed lameness, and, though the
two men slackened the pace in order to give it every chance, by mid-day
it could barely limp along.

"This won't do," said Bradby in despair. "We're losing time we can ill
afford. All the same this old crock'll have to struggle on until
nightfall, and then we'll see whether we'll have to shoot it."

"I don't like shooting a horse," Cumshaw remarked. "It's like murder."

Bradby's only answer was a muttered oath. The trials of the Journey were
bringing out the worst side of the man, a side that Cumshaw had never
seen before. He eyed his companion thoughtfully. If the wilderness was
to get on Bradby's nerves at this early stage, Cumshaw could see that
there was likely to be very serious trouble before the end came. The air
in the highlands was laden with a freshness which, while it stung the
men to action, at the same time put a keen edge on their tempers. Both
of them were children of the warm, sun-kissed lowlands, and the
difference of even a few degrees of temperature had a remarkable effect
on them. With Abel Cumshaw it was such as to send a warm glow into his
cheeks; the cold bite of the air made his blood sparkle like new wine
and urged him on to fresh efforts. It affected Mr. Bradby in another and
a worse way. He became sullen, and there was a certain marked
vindictiveness in the way he spurred his lame horse on to exertions that
were plainly too much for it. Once or twice Abel was on the point of
remonstrating with him, but for the sake of peace he held his tongue and
waited, in the hope that the day would bring forth some measure of
relief. But nothing happened that morning, and the hope died within him.

Late that day, when the pace had slowed down almost to a cr