The stowaway looked at him blankly, and he repeated his orders.
“Yes, I see,” said the man, staring stupidly, as if he were in a dream; and starting off, he went on a dozen yards, and then reeled, threw up his arms, and fell heavily.
Mark was at his side in an instant to find that the poor fellow was perfectly insensible, his face blackened with the heat, and his breath coming heavily and in gasps.
“Over exertion,” said Mrs O’Halloran as she hurried up. “The poor fellow was done up before we started.”
“Will—will he die?” faltered Mark.
“No, no,” said the major’s wife, “I’ve often seen men fall out of the ranks exhausted like this by hot marches in India.”
“But what is to be done?”
“Help me,” said Mrs O’Halloran. “That’s it, get your arm well under his, close to the shoulder. Now together.”
Mark followed her instructions, and together they dragged the poor fellow over the sand, in spite of their exhaustion, right up under the trees, and then let him sink down in the shade.
“Now, Mark, you go on and get help,” said Mrs O’Halloran.