"We must not talk any more," said Fisher. "I shall whisper
to you when you are to halt. Don't try to follow me then, for it
will only spoil the show; one man can barely crawl safely to the
spot, and two would certainly be caught."
"I would follow you anywhere," replied March, "but I would halt,
too, if that is better."
"I know you would," said his friend in a low voice. "Perhaps you're
the only man I ever quite trusted in this world."
A few paces farther on they came to the end of a great ridge or
mound looking monstrous against the dim sky; and Fisher stopped with
a gesture. He caught his companion's hand and wrung it with a
violent tenderness, and then darted forward into the darkness. March
could faintly see his figure crawling along under the shadow of the
ridge, then he lost sight of it, and then he saw it again standing
on another mound two hundred yards away. Beside him stood a singular
erection made apparently of two rods. He bent over it and there was
the flare of a light; all March's schoolboy memories woke in him,
and he knew what it was. It was the stand of a rocket. The confused,
incongruous memories still possessed him up to the very moment of a
fierce but familiar sound; and an instant after the rocket left its
perch and went up into endless space like a starry arrow aimed at
the stars.
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