The night was fairly uneventful. Once I imagined I heard something
smelling around the camp, and I remember having a sleepy curiosity as to
the size and manner of the beast, and whether he meant to eat us and
where he would be likely to begin. I may say, too, that I found some
difficulty in turning over in my sleeping-bag, and that it did rain. I
don't know what hour it was when I was awakened by the soft thudding
drops just above my nose, but I remember that I was glad, for there had
been fires in the woods, and the streams were said to be low. I
satisfied myself that Eddie's patent, guaranteed perfectly waterproof
tent was not leaking unduly, and wriggling into a new position, slept.
It was dull daylight when I awoke. Through the slit in the tent I could
see the rain drizzling on the dead campfire. Eddie--long a guest of the
forest lost now in the multiple folds of his sleeping-bag--had not
stirred. A glimpse of the guides' tent opposite revealed that the flap
was still tightly drawn. There was no voice or stir of any living
creature. Only the feet of the rain went padding among the leaves and
over the tent.
Now, I am not especially given to lying in bed, and on this particular
morning any such inclination was rather less manifest than usual. I
wanted to spread myself out, to be able to move my arms away from my
body, to whirl around and twist and revolve a bit without so much
careful preparation and deliberate movement.
Yet there was very little to encourage one to get up. Our campfire--so
late a glory and an inspiration--had become a remnant of black ends and
soggy ash. I was not overhot as I lay, and I had a conviction that I
should be less so outside the sleeping-bag, provided always that I could
extricate myself from that somewhat clinging, confining envelope.
Neither was there any immediate prospect of breakfast--nobody to talk
to--no place to go. I had an impulse to arouse Eddie for the former
purpose, but there was something about that heap of canvas and blankets
across the way that looked dangerous. I had never seen him roused in his
forest lair, and I suspected that he would be savage. I concluded to
proceed cautiously--in some manner which might lead him to believe that
the fall of a drifting leaf or the note of a bird had been his summons.
I worked one arm free, and reaching out for one of my shoes--a delicate
affair, with the soles filled with splices for clambering over the
rocks--I tossed it as neatly as possible at the irregular bunch
opposite, aiming a trifle high. It fell with a solid, sickening thud,
and I shrank down into my bag, expecting an eruption. None came. Then I
was seized with the fear that I had killed or maimed Eddie. It seemed
necessary to investigate.