"Keep on that
side!" he shouted. "And come on down here to me!"
I went down to him, choking for breath, with my heart leaping as if
it was like to leap out of me. I was past speaking. I had a hundred
questions to put to him; and not one of them would pass my lips. His
face frightened me. I saw a look in his eyes which was a look of horror.
He snatched the boot out of my hand, and set it in a footmark on the
sand, bearing south from us as we stood, and pointing straight towards
the rocky ledge called the South Spit. The mark was not yet blurred out
by the rain--and the girl's boot fitted it to a hair.
The Sergeant pointed to the boot in the footmark, without saying a word.
I caught at his arm, and tried to speak to him, and failed as I had
failed when I tried before. He went on, following the footsteps down
and down to where the rocks and the sand joined. The South Spit was just
awash with the flowing tide; the waters heaved over the hidden face
of the Shivering Sand. Now this way and now that, with an obstinate
patience that was dreadful to see, Sergeant Cuff tried the boot in the
footsteps, and always found it pointing the same way--straight TO the
rocks.
Pages:
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309