Fisher minor's behind." But no answer came from that direction either.
"Here's a go," said Ashby to himself.

"That kid Fisher's gone lame, and he'll be lost if I don't wait for him." So he dismally turned back, shouting and whistling as he went.
The clouds all round grew duller and heavier in the fading light, and the wind-blown rain struck keenly on the wanderer's cheek.
"That kid," said Ashby to himself, as he sturdily tramped through the marsh, "ought not to have come.

He's not up to it." But despite all his shouting and whistling and cooeying, not a sound came out of the mist but the wind and the driving of the rain.
Still Ashby could not bring himself to leave the "kid" in the lurch.
Even if he did not find him it would be better to-- "Ah! what was that ?" He clapped his hands to his mouth and shouted against the wind with all his might.
His voice was flung back in his face; but with it there came the feeble sound of a "coo-ey" somewhere near.
Ashby sprang to it like a drowning man to a straw.

If it was only a lost sheep it would be some company.

For ten minutes he beat round, shouting all the time, and once or twice fancying he heard an answer.
Then suddenly he came upon a great boulder, against which leaned Fisher minor, whimpering and shivering.
"Here you are!" said Ashby, joyously.