For when they had entered the enemy's zone below Mount Terrible they both realised that there was almost no chance of their returning. He had lighted his pipe; and now he sat working away at his drawings, making a map of his route as best he could without instruments, and noting with rapid pencil all matters of interest for those upon whose orders he and this girl beside him had penetrated the forbidden forest of Les Errues. This for the slim chance of getting back alive. But he had long believed that, if his pigeons failed him at the crisis, no report would ever be delivered to those who sent him here, either concerning his discoveries or his fate and the fate of the girl who lay asleep beside him. An hour later she awoke. He was still bent over his map, and she presently extended one arm and let her hand rest on his knee. "Do you feel better, Yellow-hair?" "Yes. Thank you for removing my shoes." "I suppose you are hungry," he remarked. "Yes. Are you?" He smiled: "As usual. I wish to heaven I could run across a roebuck." They both craved something to satisfy the hunger made keen by the Alpine air, and which no concentrated rations could satisfy. McKay seldom ventured to kill any game--merely an auerhahn, a hare or two, a red squirrel--and sometimes he had caught trout in the mountain brooks with his bare hands--the method called "tickling" and only too familiar to Old-World poachers. "Roebuck," she repeated trying not to speak wistfully. He nodded: "One crossed the stream below. I saw the tracks in the moss, which was still stirring where the foot had pressed." "Dare you risk a shot in Les Errues, Kay?" "I don't think I'd hesitate." After a silence: "Why don't you rest? You must be dead tired," she said. And he felt a slight pressure of her fingers drawing him. So he laid aside his work, dropped upon his blanket, and turned on his left side, looking at her. "You have not yet seen any sign of the place from which you once looked out across the frontier and saw thousands and thousands of people as busy as a swarm of ants--have you, Kay?" "I remember this stream and these woods. I can't seem to recollect how far or in which direction I turned after passing this granite gorge." "Did you go far?" "I can't recollect," he said. "I'd give my right arm if I could." His worn and anxious visage touched her. "Don't fret, Kay, dear," she said soothingly. "We'll find it. We'll find out what the Hun is doing. We'll discover what this Great Secret really is. And our pigeons shall tell it to the world." And, as always, she smiled cheerfully, confidently. He had never heard her whine, had never seen her falter save from sheer physical weariness. "We'll win through, Yellow-hair," he said, looking steadily into her clear brown-gold eyes. "Of course. You are so wonderful, Kay." "That is the most wonderful thing in the world, Evelyn--to hear you tell me such a thing!" "Don't you know I think so?"