‘That’s why we killed him,’ MacConnachie said. Ansell said nothing. MacConnachie reached behind him, drew out the knife and said, ‘Lean towards me.’

The next moment Ansell’s hands became separated for the first time in days. He turned at once to release MacConnachie. Then they sat, both of them in silence, glorying in the free movement of their arms, caressing their bruised and rope-burned wrists. MacConnachie had actually to peel one section of rope out of his flesh, where it had eaten its way in and embedded itself. This left a raw, shallow channel in the meat.

MacConnachie said, ‘Take the gun. Keep watch.’

As he stood on guard, Ansell glanced every now and then at MacConnachie to see what he was doing. First, he removed the dead man’s belt. Then he rolled his clothes into a neat bundle, tying them together with the sleeves of the native coat. Finally, he went through the pouches of the belt. There was a slim bundle of notes in the first. ‘About five bobs’ worth,’ said MacConnachie. And nothing in any of the others until he came to the last. He withdrew a tiny object, and said,

‘What the hell’s this? Looks like a chicken’s beak.’

‘Probably a lucky charm.’

‘Well, it didn’t do him much good,’ said MacConnachie, and tossed it aside. Ansell found that he was disturbed by this. He said,

‘We could leave it with him.’

‘He hasn’t got any pockets. What shall I do? Shove it up his jacksi?’

Ansell said nothing. MacConnachie said,

‘He’s coming with us, anyway.’

‘Coming with us?’

‘Watch your front!’

MacConnachie rose, strapped the belt round his own waist, tied the bundle of clothes to it, slipped the knife under it, and said,

‘I don’t want him found before nightfall. After that, we’ll dump him. Till then, he comes too.’

He bent and raised the body with one hand under each armpit until it stood upright. He looked to Ansell and said, ‘Come on. Fireman’s carry.’

Obediently, Ansell crossed, stooped, thrust one arm between the dead legs and, as MacConnachie lowered the weight of the corpse across his shoulders, took hold of a dead wrist with the same hand. MacConnachie then took the gun, leaving Ansell’s other hand free for balance and support. Ansell said,

‘He’s still warm.’

‘He’ll stay that way a long time in this heat. Let’s move.’

They set off up the hill, two men, three bodies.

Just before they left, when Ansell’s back was turned, MacConnachie had crouched, retrieved the chicken’s beak, and returned it surreptitiously to the pouch. Now he led the way forward.

With their arms free, the going was much easier. Although the slope was no less steep, there were occasional bushes to pull upon, and a well-worn path to follow. MacConnachie saw no point in avoiding it. The lie of the land was such that, should anyone appear over the horizon, the encounter would turn on which of them moved first; and MacConnachie was confident that he would. He was quicker to react than anyone he had come against.