Evelyn Erith now let go of her own pack and, flinging herself on the moss, set her lips to the surface of a brimming pool.

“Careful of this Alpine water!” McKay warned her.  But the girl satisfied her thirst before she rose to her knees and looked around at him.

“Are you tired, Yellow-hair?” he asked.

“Yes....  Are you, Kay?”

He shook his head and cast a glance around him.

It was beautiful, this little woodland vale with its stream dashing through and its slopes forested with beech and birch—­splendid great trees with foliage golden green in the sun.

But it was not the beauty of the scene that preoccupied these two.  Always, when ready to halt, their choice of any resting-place depended upon several things more important than beauty.

For one matter the place must afford concealment, and also a water supply.  Moreover it must be situated so as to be capable of defence.  Also there must be an egress offering a secure line of retreat.

So McKay began to roam about the place, prowling along the slopes and following the stream.  Apparently the topography satisfied him; for after a little while he came back to where Miss Erith was lying on the moss, one arm resting across her eyes.

“You are tired,” he said.

She removed her arm and looked up at him out of those wonderful golden eyes.

“Is it all right for us to remain here, Kay?”

“Yes.  You can see for yourself.  Anybody coming into this valley must be visible on that ridge to the south.  And there’s an exit.  This brook dashes through it—­two vast granite gates that will let us through into the outer forest, where they might as well hunt for two pins as for us.”

The girl smiled; her eyes closed.  “I’m glad we can rest,” she murmured.  So McKay went about his duties.

First he removed his pack and hers a hundred yards down stream, through the granite gateway, and placed them just beyond.

Then he came back for Miss Erith.  Scarcely awakened as he lifted her, she placed one arm around his neck with the sleepy unconsciousness of a tired child.  They had long been on such terms; there was no escaping them in the intimacy of their common isolation and common danger.

He laid her on the moss, well screened by the granite barrier, and beyond range of the brook’s rainbow spray.  She was already asleep again.

He took off both her shoes, unwound the spiral puttees and gave her bruised little feet a chance to breathe.

He made camp, tested the wind and found it safe to build a fire, set water to simmer, and unpacked the tinned rations.  Then he made the two beds side by side, laying down blankets and smoothing away the twigs underneath.

The surviving carrier pigeon was hungry.  He fed it, lifted it still banded from its place, cleaned the cage and set it to dry in a patch of sunshine.