Very cautiously, he eased round on to his knees, holding the canteen in front of him, searching the canopy of scrub for a place through which he might take a careful look about. He got no farther. A bayonet came down through the foliage, jarred against the canteen, knocked it from his hands, and the third line was gone. He hadn’t even heard them coming but, strangely, as though in some way the close call had released their tension too, they chattered now, animatedly among themselves, as they went away.

For some moments he remained in a state of stilled shock, unmoving. Then his whole body started to tremble as he gasped with astonishment and relief, chilled by a sudden cold, then flushed by an uncomfortable and sticky warmth. He folded forward. The canteen lay a few inches from his face, a raw, livid gash in its leather work. The Goon must have thought it a rock. He laughed uneasily.

Then he began to concern himself with MacConnachie, who, to judge by the absence of shooting, must still be safe. They had to regain contact at once. After three minutes, he wriggled to the edge of the gully and looked back.

The searchers were bobbing in and out of view as they had before, but now they were moving away from him, and they looked less dangerous. There was no sign of the River Boys yet on Big Ridge, but when they came the valley search party would turn back and try their luck a second time. A small command group still remained on Little Ridge.

He had last been with MacConnachie to his left. If Mac were still on that side, then Mac would find him. He would know that Ansell couldn’t move without increasing the danger of their passing one another. He waited fifteen minutes, and then another fifteen.

To the right, then. That was their last line of march. He had to increase his field of view, to get higher without being seen by the many eyes that surrounded him.

He left the gully at a flat crawl, animal-close to the earth, slithering over cracks and fissures, the torments of dust and heat forgotten, seeking a place from which to scent the hunt, the canteen dragging behind him. At last, to his left, he saw a feature that might be suitable, and inched his way to the top.

The extended lines of men had almost reached Big Ridge, and now the River Boys had appeared on the summit. In a few minutes the net would be recast, and if he and MacConnachie were still outside it, they were only just beyond its outer rim. He could see to his right a wide gully, some forty yards distant, that ran away towards Little Ridge. He decided to make for it. It was a feature so prominent that MacConnachie could hardly miss it, and would be bound to head for it in the end.

He eased down, orientated himself, and set off again to his right. The next moment he came face to face with MacConnachie, who grinned and said,