. . .
The two alone in the light of the flickering fire; the many gone to feast
on fish, the price of lives.
But the price was not yet paid, for the man waked from insensibility--
waked to see himself with the body of the boy beside him in the red light
of the fires.
For a moment his heart stopped beating, he turned sick and faint.
Deserted by those for whom he risked his life! . . . How long had he
lain there? What time was it? When was it that he had fought his way to
the nets and back again-hours maybe? And the dead boy there, Wingo, who
had risked his life, also dead--how long? His heart leaped--ah! not
hours, only minutes maybe. It was sundown as unconsciousness came on
him--Indians would not stay with the dead after sundown. Maybe it was
only ten minutes-five minutes--one minute ago since they left him!. . .
His watch! Shaking fingers drew it out, wild eyes scanned it. It was
not stopped. Then it could have only been minutes ago. Trembling to his
feet, he staggered over to Wingo, he felt the body, he held a mirror to
the lips.
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