“Nor can I give you any idea of the way the words came, nor of the glassy brilliance of his eyes, set in a face dry as a skull, the yellow teeth chattering between tightly stretched lips. Oh! it was horrible--horrible!
“The second day he was strong enough to stand, but not to walk. The rain, due now every hour, comes without warning, making the swamps impassable, and there was no time to lose. I left two men to care for him, and hurried back to camp to get some sort of a stretcher on which to bring him out.
“That night, sitting under our lamp--we were alone at the time, my men being again away--I gave the young Belgian the details of my trip, telling him the man’s name and object in coming into the wilderness, describing his sufferings and relating snaps of his talk. He listened with a curious expression on his face, his eyes growing strangely bright, his fingers twitching like those of a nervous person unused to tales of suffering and privation.
“‘And he will live?’ he said, with a smile, as I finished.
“‘Certainly; all he wanted was something in his stomach; he’s got that. He’ll be here to-morrow.’
“For some time he did not speak; then he rose from his seat, looked at me steadily for a moment, grasped my hand, and with a certain tenderness in his voice, said:
“‘For being kind. I’ll go to the spring and get a drink, and then I’ll go to sleep. Good night!’
“I watched him disappear into the dark, wondering at his mood. Hardly had I regained my seat when a pistol shot rang out. He had blown the top of his head off.
“That night I buried him in the soft ooze near the spring, covering him so the hyenas could not reach his body.
“The next morning my men arrived, carrying the stranger. He had been plucky and had insisted on walking a little, and the party arrived earlier than I expected. When he had thanked me for what I had done, he began an inspection of my rude dwelling and the smaller lean-to, even peering into the huts connected with my bungalow--new in his experience.
“‘And you are all alone except for your black men?’ he asked in an eager tone.
“‘No, I have Mr. Judson with me. He is away this week--and a young Belgian officer--and--I--’
“‘Yes, I remember Mr. Judson,’ he interrupted. ‘I met him at the landing below. I should have taken his advice and joined him. And the young officer--has he been long with you?’