I piled a cairn of stones over him. I said as I heaped stone on stone, I’ll see this cairn every day on the ridge of the hill. Nevertheless I went on raising a memorial to affront my eyes. I could not leave him with a shallow covering of earth and flat stones, so open to the sky. The crows had picked his eyes from their sockets. With his eyes gone he did not seem like a man. I never wondered what man he was, what brought him here. I piled a great cairn over him. I delved my arms into the bog where I sunk his rifle to lay it beside him. As I worked I twisted my side and the wound opened again.

I killed a roe-buck on the morning of the 6th. We were lucky to get it. I could not have gone far for meat. We were faint with hunger. I had lost a great deal of blood and the pain of the wound sapped my strength. I spied the roe drinking by Loch Coulter and brought him down with the .22. Terry fried his liver straightaway. Our force renewed as we ate though we had to compel ourselves to eat.

‘It was a lucky chance, getting him,’ Terry said, and then, ‘He won’t last us very long, Hugh.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘We must get a stag as soon as possible, and lay up a store of meat.’

Her eyes kept their distraught look. I found her gazing at me as if she doubted my presence. I avoided speaking about the past days.

‘Is it—is it safe to go out?’ she asked.

I could not tell the lie I wished to tell with her eyes beseeching me. I shook my head.

‘Nothing’s safe any more,’ I said wearily.

‘Whatever will happen to us!’ she burst out. ‘What can we do?’

What could I say that would quieten her fear? I started to skin the roe.

‘We’ll rest to-morrow,’ I declared. ‘I’m not fit to go out yet—this filthy wound aches—’

We were like people in a stupor, sleeping, waking to eat, crouching over the fire. The days were growing colder. We could not get warm. Drizzling rain fell, sleet on the tops. In the evening of the 7th I fetched down the rifles. I had even omitted to clean them.

‘We’ll try for a stag to-morrow,’ I said. ‘We’ve had a lesson not to let ourselves run short of food—’

‘Dear lesson!’ she interrupted bitterly. ‘I’m going with you, Hugh.’

I did not argue with her. I could not bear to think of losing her again. Next day, before it was fully light, we carried our store of ammunition and the most precious of our belongings from the cave to hide them in a deep cleft in the rock. We covered them with stones. That was the morning of the 8th of October. Yesterday.