Mr. Stokes declared that he was perfectly happy where he was, and deprecated the trouble he was giving.
“Trouble,” cried Lamancha. “I caused the trouble, and I’m going to see you through it.”
“But you’ll get nabbed, sir, and there ain’t no bloomin’ good in my ‘avin’ my leg broke if Claybody’s going to nab you along of it. You cut off, sir, and never ‘eed me.”
“I don’t want to be nabbed, but I can’t leave you. . . . Wait a minute! If I followed Wattie—that is my stalker—down to the Doran I could send a message to Crask about a stretcher and men to carry it. I might get some food too. And then I’ll come back here, and we’ll bukk about Palestine till it’s time to go. . . . It might be the best way. . . .”
But, even as he spoke, further plans were put out of the question by the advent of s
