But it was there all right; and so, close at hand, was an old woman sitting on a stoop, who must have watched everything that had so far transpired without uttering a sound. At her feet lay the body of a dead man, a son perhaps, or a grandson. She seemed to be aware of them and yet divorced from their actions, as though she looked both at and through them. For some moments they returned her gaze in a state of shocked suspension. Ansell felt a prickle of weird unreality. Then MacConnachie walked across, took down the canteen and shook it; Ansell could tell that it contained water and was sound. MacConnachie came back and stared down at the old lady. Apparently satisfied that whatever ritual of mourning she was performing she constituted no danger to them, he handed the canteen to Ansell and said,

‘Refill it, fresh water entirely. Then drink what you want, quickly!’

‘Right.’

‘Leave the gun, here’s the knife.’

Ansell ran quickly to the well, crouched, laid down the knife and, removing the stopper from the canteen, poured its contents into the dust. As soon as it was empty he plunged it below the surface and waited impatiently for it to refill; then he withdrew it, stoppered it tightly, looked about him, and plunged his face into the well to drink his fill. He found to his surprise that he didn’t enjoy it. As soon as he started to drink he was attacked by an outbreak of wind; and his thirst, strangely, had left him. But, spacing his gulps, he did his best to replace the liquid lost during the day; then, knife in one hand and canteen, unexpectedly heavy now, in the other, he ran back to MacConnachie.

While MacConnachie drank, Ansell kept watch, the absolute stillness of the old lady making him, for no reason, acutely uneasy. He had the feeling that they no longer controlled events. MacConnachie returned, took the gun, and said,

‘We might as well try this hut first.’

But now the old lady rose in muted protest, barring the way; this, it appeared, she would not allow. MacConnachie murmured, ‘Sorry, love,’ and struck her down with a short, right-arm chop. Catching at the front of her clothing, he sat her gently against the door jamb and passed inside. Hesitating, Ansell followed.

There was one room with a yard at the back. It may have been that gifts had been brought in recognition of the visitation of death. Whatever the explanation, there were little piles of food neatly laid out all over the table and bed: fish, fruit, vegetables and some flowers. Not much of this was useful to them but, stuffing fruit into their pockets and munching as they worked, they searched the room. In a cupboard Ansell came on an unexpected hoard of tins, four of meat and two of soup. There were also two jars of paste, a small quantity of sugar and a larger amount of salt. Since the sugar tin lacked a lid, MacConnachie told him to add the sugar to the salt, which he did. MacConnachie then displayed his own discovery, laughing.