Light was shining on him when he opened his eyes, and not the light of lamps. Dazed, he found himself lying on the cabin divan, his coat and boots off, his head on a cushion and blankets wrapped about him. As he stirred he heard a faint sound, and Eva’s face appeared above him. And, drunk still with sleep, he put up his arm almost unconsciously, and drew it down to his own, as he had done once before.
“I’ve been asleep,” he muttered. “It isn’t morning?”
“It’s just after ten o’clock,” she laughed.
She seemed delighted, but Lang was struck with horror. Impossible that he could have slept so, ever since last sunset. He sat up, caught a glimpse of the mountainside and the glacier through the window, and the memory of the past day crashed back into him.
“Carroll—Louie? What’s happened?” he exclaimed.
“Nothing’s happened. We’ve been taking turns on guard all night. All’s well. I’ve been keeping your breakfast hot for you.”
She gave his head a little squeeze, and darted off to the tiny galley where a gasoline stove burned. Once the Chita had been equipped with electric light and heat, but these fittings had long since gone into disrepair.
Lang hurriedly put on Morrison’s coat again, and his own boots, which they had cleaned and oiled for him out of their hardened stiffness. Hearing voices, Morrison came down from the deck.
“You’ve a great capacity for sleep, young man,” he observed. “Thank Heaven for it. You were on the raw edge last night—pretty close to collapse. How do you feel?”
Lang felt rested, and said so. He felt marvelously recuperated, in fact. There was a stiffness in his legs, but his brain was clear, he was full of energy, and he was ravenously hungry.