the assurance and agility of

  Crawling rapidly about, avoiding patches of light, a thrill like fear flooded him. With a stifled exclamation he leaped up and retraced his steps to the higher level, climbing with the assurance and agility of a mountain goat.   No longer did he think of silence. The lifelong instinct fell from him like a cloak. Speed--speed--that was everything. When the trees closed him in he realised that he was not alone. Other moving forms everywhere enabled him to run openly.   A group came toward him, and Blue Pete threw himself flat. And as they passed he caught their outline against the lighter western sky, where still remnants of day lingered.   Every one carried a rifle!   He waited for nothing more. As he had never run before he sped through the bush, bearing due south-east toward the deserted end-of-steel village, avoiding trees and fallen logs with uncanny ease. Some heard him and paused in their course, but they were keyed up to serious work, and there were so many of their friends abroad. Probably a messenger of their leader's on pressing duty.   Half a mile to the east Blue Pete pulled up. Two piercing whistles he sent in rapid succession into the night, and in a moment repeated them. Then he resumed his running, shifting direction toward the grade, where the course would be clearer. At intervals he whistled the shrill double blast.