GRENFELL GOES ON Weston, tired as he was, did not sleep well that night.

Although they had a pack-horse he had carried two blankets and a bag of flour, and when a man has marched from sunrise until dusk under a heavy burden, his shoulders, as a rule, ache distressfully.

In addition to this discomfort, Grenfell's manner throughout that day's march had roused an unsettling sense of expectation in his comrades.

The man had limped wearily and continually lagged behind, but he had, in spite of it, resolutely insisted on their pushing on as fast as possible.

He had also looked about him with a certain suggestive curiosity every now and then, and though he had once or twice admitted that he could not positively identify anything he saw, his air of restrained eagerness had made its impression on Weston.
A half-moon had sailed up into the eastern sky when the latter wakened and raised himself drowsily on one elbow.