He nodded. He thought he had recognized Grinnel from her picture.
"And ten men waking up. Charles, do you remember the way to the wharf?"
"Sure," he said. "But we're net going to get separated."
"They're mean, mad men," she said. "Bloody-minded. And the little man is
the worst."
They heard the stomping feet and a babble of voices, and Commander
Grinnel's clear, fat-man's tenor: "Keep it quiet, men. He may still be
in the area." The feet thundered over their heads on the porch.
In the barest of whispers Martha said: "The man that slept tells them
there was only one, and he didn't see what he was like except for the
bare skin and the long hair. And the fat man says they'll find him
and--and--and says they'll find him." Her hand clutched Charles'
desperately and then dropped it as the feet thudded overhead again.
Grinnel was saying: "Half of you head up the street and half down. Check
the alleys, check open window--hell, I don't have to tell you. If we
don't find the bastard on the first run we'll have to wake up the whole
Guard Battalion and patrol the whole base with them all the goddam
night, so keep your eyes open. Take off."
"Remember the way to the wharf, Charles," Martha said. "Good-bye lady.
Take care of him. Take good care of him." She wrenched her hand away and
darted out from under the porch.
Lee muttered some agonized monosyllable. Charles started out after the
child instinctively and then collapsed weakly back onto the dirt. They
heard the rest.
"Hey, you--it's him, by God! Get him! Get him!"
"Here he is, down here! Head him off!"
"Over there!" Grinnel yelled. "Head him off! Head him--good work!"
"For God's sake. It's a girl."
"Those goddam yeomen and their goddam prowlers."