"Oh, nothing," the stranger answered and slung the weapon over his left shoulder. Had the man a round in the breech? Fitzgerald wondered. For himself he had not even a cartridge in the magazine. What a fool he had been not to take the precaution of being prepared for emergencies.... The stranger came close to his side and his shoulder almost touched Fitzgerald's. The Rifleman moved to the left, close to the verge of the road and his hand slipped towards his bandolier. "It's very dark to-night," he said as his fingers closed on a cartridge. "Very dark," said the man. "There's no moon," Fitzgerald remarked as he slipped the bolt of his rifle back. Then with due caution he pressed the cartridge into the mouth of the magazine. As far as he could judge the stranger had not noticed the action. "No, there's no moon," he said in answer to Fitzgerald's remark. "How far is it to the next village?" asked Fitzgerald and shoved the rounds into the magazine. The cartridge-clip clattered on to the cobbles. "You've dropped something," said the stranger. "What was it?" "I've dropped nothing," the Irishman replied. "I must have hit my boot against something." He glanced at the stranger's face. White and ghostly it looked, with a protruding jowl and a dark moustache that drooped over the lips. As Fitzgerald spoke he pressed the bolt home and now felt a certain confidence enter his being. There was the round snug in the breech of his rifle. One touch of the trigger.... "Did you think I dropped a shilling?" he laughed. "Wish I had one to throw away." "Many a one would wish the same," said the man gruffly. Then he whistled a tune through his teeth, a contemplative whistle as if he were considering something. "You're at Y---- Farm, of course," he suddenly remarked. "There are a number of soldiers billeted there. You know the way to it?" "I know the way," Fitzgerald answered. "You leave the road at a ruined cottage along here and cross the fields," said the man. "I'm going that way myself." "I leave the road further along," the Irishman said hastily. "Nonsense," said the man. "Past the ruined cottage is the best way." "I'm not going that way," Fitzgerald said. "Not going that way," repeated his companion. "Why not?" "I don't know the road through the fields there." "But I know the way." "I prefer to go further along," said Fitzgerald. "Two of my mates are just ahead." "Where are they?" asked the stranger in a tone of surprise. "I thought you were all alone." "They are just a few hundred yards on in front," was the answer. "Not so far away." "Oh!" said the man. "Then that is why you're in such a hurry." "I'm in no particular hurry," said Fitzgerald. "But it is wise to be back before 'Lights out.'"