He went on steadily, stopping but once, in the middle of the forenoon, to eat a bit of bread and to refill his water-bottle at a clear, pure stream which he crossed.
As he drew near to the neighborhood of the glade he was minded to turn aside for a look at the scene of yesterday’s strange adventure, when he thought he heard a low groan beyond him in the forest. He stood to listen, and presently caught the sound again—the moaning of some creature in mortal pain.
He crept forward warily. As he came nearer to the moaning he became certain that the hurt creature was a man, and he tried to hear whether there might be others with him. No sound reached him, however, save that faint groaning; so at last he parted the drooping branches of an elm-tree, and saw a piteous sight.
There upon the grass, face downward, lay Bell-Hutten, his body rocking softly from side to side as in great agony. His garment of skins was torn from his shoulders, and Wulf noted a torn wound, the blood now dried about it, where the robber’s dagger had struck the day before.
As the boy watched, filled with dole, he saw the poor creature reach back a hand toward an empty water-bottle that lay on the grass. His left hand was stretched forward, the fingers clutching vaguely among the grass and leaves. Wulf’s whole nature, as he stood there, ached with horror and pity—horror of the unhappy being upon whom the curse of God and man seemed to have fallen so heavily.
“’Tis a pitiful thing,” he thought, “and urgent as this business of our emperor’s is, I cannot go on and leave the man thus.”
“Brother,” he called softly, not to startle the sufferer, “what dost want?”
“Water! water! For mercy’s sake!”
“Canst manage this?” and loosening his leathern bottle, Wulf handed it to the half-wit.
The poor fever-parched hands grasped it eagerly, drew the stopper, and the man drank.