“Dar now!” Hitch mourned. “De water cramps got him! He’s dead!”
The lights of the lanterns searched everywhere. No black object floated, nothing at all was seen.
The same clear, authoritative voice spoke again, and a tone of sadness softened it:
“I guess that’s all, men! We may as well go home now!”
“I’s gwine home, too!” Hitch Diamond whimpered piteously.
VII
GOING HOME.
He climbed down the levee, after battling his way across the river, found a public highway on the other side, and stepped into the middle of the road. Looking about him cautiously, he inflated his lungs with air. After that he dropped his hands to his sides and began a steady and persistent trot, his feet striking the sand with the monotonous regularity of a ticking clock, each stride carrying him away from the scene of his adventure.
Hour after hour, as persistent as a desert camel, Hitch moved ahead, his breath like a husky bellows, his body pain-shot from his many wounds.
By early dawn he was miles away, tortured by hunger and compelled to face the fact that he could not go to a house and beg for food, nor could he forage in the daylight for lack of clothes.
“Lawd,” Hitch mourned. “Ef I ever git back to Tickfall, I’s gwine git on de water-wagon, an’ cut out de booze. I’ll cut out prize-fightin’, cussin’, an’ trabelin’ aroun’. I’ll git me a good, easy job ’thout much work to do, an’ rest my bones till I die!”