Hap Westy been a medieval knight in quest of the Holy Grail and had at
last beheld the object of his search before his very eyes, he couldn’t
have been happier.
Tears of unrestrained emotion stained his gaunt face as he looked down
upon this veritable land of promise. Away to the northwest his eyes
followed its winding course and his heart leaped to see a tiny spiral of
smoke curling its way upward with such a restful, comfortable look.
It was entirely unconscious--that simile. But he felt ever after that it
suited the purpose. Curling smoke meant warmth and food, comfort and
rest. And how Rip needed them now! Typical of Westy that he should
forget his own needs at such a time.
He helped himself to the berries and put some in the blouse, hoping it
would tide them over until---- He was afraid to let the thought form
itself completely for fear that perhaps after all it was nothing more
than a visionary trend his starvation was taking. But then he was sure
he was feeling better after consuming the berries and his head didn’t
swim quite as badly as before. No, it was _real_ and so near!
He hurried back to Rip.
As he looked at the sleeping boy he wished he could only make him
comprehend that his sufferings would soon be ministered to and that his
tortured body would rest in a nice soft bunk.
The fever was beginning to mount again with the advent of sunset and he
was babbling meaningless phrases. Westy took the wet leaves and
moistened his parched lips. He opened his eyes, but there wasn’t a sign
of recognition in them.
Westy didn’t know whether it was harmful or not in his condition, but he
fed Rip some of the berries. After a few mouthsful, however, he refused
any more.
Just as the sun was setting they came out on the trail. Near them was a
large rock high and dry, and he decided it would be just the place for
them that night. It was large enough to allow them to lay full length
and side by side for the first time in three nights. He could make it a
little softer with some dry leaves, even if he had to make many trips
back and forth in getting them. Westy’s thoughts were getting
breathless, too.
He figured that he and Rip could make it the next day and reach the
shack by mid-afternoon even considering the stop-overs with Rip, so he
set to work fixing their rocky berth. The leaves were nice and warm and
dry, and Rip sank back in them with a sigh.
That at least was a hopeful sign Westy thought as he watched him and
wondered if he’d hold out the rest of the way. He didn’t even ask for
water now--nothing but sleep. Was it a good or bad sign? He didn’t know,
but Mrs. Redmond would probably know what to do for him to-morrow. He
repeated the word to-morrow again and he thought it fairly lilted as he
uttered it and laid down contentedly in the warm leaves.
His anxiety about Rip kept him awake and he watched the stars overhead.
Cool though it was, he was thankful for the clear windless night of the
open in preference to the damp dark forest. Then he piled more leaves on
Rip, fearful of him taking more cold along with the fever and left
himself uncovered.
He wished, oh, how he wished as he lay there, to have just one drink of
water before his eyes closed in sleep. That thought had a distressing
effect upon him ever since his thirst began. His throat immediately
began to ache and he had all sorts of unpleasant sensations until he
overcame them by force of will.
Sleep came to him mercifully, though, and he dreamed that he was
drinking large buckets of water out of an old well. Presently Lola and
her grandmother came along and Mrs. Redmond called excitedly for him to
stop drinking it, that the well was poisoned. Lola screamed a loud
piercing shriek and it was so shrill that it awakened him.
He raised his head to look, so realistic was the scream.
There on the edge of the rock were two green eyes, gleaming like darts
of flame in the darkness.