A DAY AND A NIGHT
Hal groped his way through another jungle day and just as the shadows
began to creep through the forest he came upon an almost overgrown
trail. He was overjoyed, for it was the first indication he had seen
that something else besides animal life had trod that lonely region.
Also, he could see in the deepening gloom that the foliage and trees
became more attenuated from this point on.
Did it mean that he was approaching a settlement? Civilization? Even in
his extreme joy he dared not hope for that much. But the anticipation of
seeing a human being was quite enough. That and a drink of cool water
was all he asked for.
His hand hurt him constantly and he found it difficult to use it at all.
Consequently he went around picking up the wood for his fire with his
left hand, which seemed to take him considerably longer. And when night
closed in he had only enough to burn for a few hours.
He decided to make the best of it—in point of fact, he felt too utterly
weary and feverish to do otherwise. Just then he was powerless to do
aught but spread out his flannel coat and lie down. The making of
campfires was beginning to get on his nerves.
But he managed another fire, hoping against hope that it would be the
last. He piled onto it all the wood that he had gathered, then lay down
on the spread coat and thought over the day which he had just spent.
He had killed two fowls which meant two bullets less in his gun. Also he
was down to two cigarettes and the same number of matches. It was a
matter of necessity that he reach some sort of settlement that next day.
A horrible chill shook him from head to foot, when he thought of what a
time he would have if another day’s tramping brought him no more than
the day just closed.
Finally he got to sleep and tossed for two hours, dreaming horrible
dreams. When he awakened, the fire was dead and he found himself
besieged with mosquitoes. There was no brushing them off and even when
he used up his next to the last match to light a cigarette and smoke
them out, he had little or no success.
The itch and sting of them drove him to distraction, and after an hour
he gave up all thought of trying to sleep. Then for a long interval he
paced up and down his little clearing with his coat pulled about his
head. After that proved uncomfortable he decided to grope his way
through the dark and take his chances. Anything to keep going.
He did.
He hadn’t gone but five hundred feet when he remembered about the trail
and its promise for the morrow. What was getting into him that he could
forget that so soon? Was he delirious? Certainly he felt he would be if
he couldn’t sleep some more somewhere and rest his feverish, aching
body. But the memory of the trail became very vivid, very promising
then, and he decided not to go one step further.
And Hal’s life rested on that decision, for he had hesitated upon that
step. One foot, however, had already been plunged forward and he felt
water close over it. In a moment he had drawn it back, trembling and
shaken, for something had rubbed against it. And in a nervous abandon he
took out his last match, struck it against the little box and held it up
to see that he had barely escaped certain death.
For the flickering light of the match showed him to be standing on the
brink of a stagnant jungle pond. And lying on its slimy banks was a huge
alligator blinking curiously at the tiny flame and occasionally opening
its cavernous jaws.
The light went out, but Hal found his way back to the camp and he stayed
there until dawning.