_Kismet_, etc.!"
Acton looked narrowly at Senior. "All right, Jack. Get your coat on;
but, honour bright, I'd rather go alone."
"Couldn't do it, old man," said Senior, whilst Worcester nodded
approvingly. "What would Phil Bourne say, if he heard we'd let you melt
away into---- I'm going too."
The passage out of the cutting was not so difficult as Acton had
bargained for; but Worcester and Todd did wonders with the fireman's
shovels and made a lane through the drifts. On the firm ground of the
fell the two found that, though the snow was deep enough in all
conscience, it was not to be compared with the drifts on the line. The
wind now, as they started off, was whipping away the loose top layers of
snow in cold white clouds, which stung the face and ears with their icy
sharpness; but, with caps well down and coats buttoned up to the ears,
the two trudged on. The snow had ceased, but it was plain, by the dark
and lowering sky, that this might only be temporary, and Acton kept up
as smart a pace as he could, heading right for the shoulder of the fell,
a couple of miles away, behind which he might, if he were lucky, see
that moorland farm. The hill ran down into a valley, towards which the
two Amorians hurried, Acton keeping his ears well open for the faintest
murmur of water.
"There's a beck somewhere down here, Jack, but we'll not see it until
we're almost into it. So look out!"
"All serene! I'm on the _qui vive!_" Hardly were the words out of
Senior's mouth than he stumbled headlong forward, the ground opening at
his feet, and a narrow ribbon of cold grey water, silently sliding under
its shrunken banks, caught Acton's eye.
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