They're all around you, Foy.
Hargis, he gave you away.

Don't show a finger nail of yourself.

Let me crawl up behind that big rock ahead and then you can identify me." "It's you, all right," said Foy when Pringle reached the rock and straightened himself up.
"I told you so," said Pringle, peering into the shadows of the cleft.
"I can't see you.

And how am I going to get to you?
There are twenty men with point-blank range.

I'm muddy, scratched, bruised, tired and hungry, sleepy and cross--and there's thirty feet in the open between here and you, and it nearly broad daylight.