"Steady on, we'll
get you."
Of all hardships, this brief delay was least bearable. Then a bight of
rope fell across Rudolph's back. He seized it, hauled taut, and planting
his feet against the wall, went up like a fish, to land gasping on a row
of sand-bags.
"Ho, you wandering German!" His invisible friend clapped him on the
shoulder. "By Jove, I'm glad. No time to burble now, though. Off with
you. Compradore has a gun for you, in the court. Collect a drink as you
go by. Report to Kneebone at the northeast corner. Danger point there:
we need a good man, so hurry. Devilish glad. Cut along."
Rudolph, scrambling down from the pony-shed, ran across the compound
with his head in a whirl. Yet through all the scudding darkness and
confusion, one fact had pierced as bright as a star. On this night of
alarms, he had turned the great corner in his life. Like the pale
stranger with his crown of fire, he could finish the course.
He caught his rifle from the compradore's hand, but needed no draught
from any earthly cup. Brushing through the orange trees, he made for the
northeast angle, free of all longing perplexities, purged of all vile
admiration, and fit to join his friends in clean and wholesome danger.
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