Van Wyck recoiled and his under lip trembled. Bill laid a merciful hand upon his emaciated shoulder. "There isn't anything that I want to keep from you," he said. "I'll tell you the truth. For three days I've been planning to kill you. I lay awake last night and watched you. I thought: 'This thirst—this dreadful thirst'—he would put an end to it!"
Van Wyck shivered, and tears ran down his face and dampened his brittle red beard. His small blue eyes dilated with horror. Hot shame flushed red over his throat and ears. "But you wouldn't really eat me?" he moaned.
"I don't know," replied Bill. "That's why I suggest the swim. It's six miles and we're atrociously weak; but anything to keep from thinking of that!"
Bill knew that Van Wyck understood and sympathized. Van Wyck had a knife, which he kept hidden, but in his sleep he frequently took it out and felt the edge of it. Bill had been very much horrified, and he had not pretended to misunderstand the expression on Van Wyck's face. There was something brazen in Van Wyck's affrightment when he discovered that two could play the same sinister game.
The sun was setting and a few gray wisps of clouds were fleeing like flakes of snow across the blue sky. A single gull careened and dipped far out in the tumbling black immensity of ocean. A great silence had fallen upon the atoll, and the stubborn struggle between the two men drew to an issue before the first wild rush of stars. Van Wyck felt unsafe in the presence of Bill Cullen, and he made no effort to conceal his fear.
"Let's get away from here as quickly as possible," he pleaded. "You were right. Six or seven miles isn't a long swim. If we strip, we can make it."
Bill extended his hand. It was like a dead thing, but Van Wyck seized it and wrung it warmly. His voice quivered. "It isn't a long swim, old fellow," he repeated.
Bill made a grimace. "It might rain," he said.
"It won't rain," responded Van Wyck.
That settled it. They spent the evening getting ready. They hid their anguish in a bustle of preparation. Bill scurried about and secured three clams. The unfortunate bi-valves were devoured with immoderate ferocity. Even their stiff, rubber-like necks afforded grist for the mill of Van Wyck's teeth. It grieved Bill to see the shells go to waste. They sat down and congratulated themselves for the first time in a week. The clams seemed to make their situation less hopeless, but they did not on that account decide to remain on the island. Their thirst was abnormal and monstrous. It was not a thing to be talked about.