But the great spaces swallowed up the sound of his voice. A vulture swam past him and disappeared. Again he called and, straining, listened. No answer. No sound. Almost mad with a fear that crawled into his very vitals, he shouted again and again without pause.
Dark blue shadows crept out of the rocks; the purple sky darkened. He could no longer see the ledge below him.
It was then that his nerves conquered him and he became their victim.
He rose and, running, retraced his steps. Anxiety made havoc of his reason. If only he knew the worst! Almost blindly he ran, but instinct and knowledge guided him.
Half-way down the mountains he pulled himself up suddenly. He had thought himself incapable of further suffering, but now he felt a pain like a fretted blade sawing at his brain. Why, they would say that he had murdered Sylvester! Who would believe his story? Would even his mother believe it? It was as clear as the sun. He had taken Sylvester up into the mountains, had robbed him, and then thrown him over the cliff! His body would never be found in those inaccessible heights!
He stood, chilled and trembling. Oh, God! if he only knew!
Then reason left him. He scrambled hither and thither on the rocks on hands and knees, calling “Sylvester! Sylvester!” as he went. His hands and knees were bleeding, and something like blood seemed to be washing about within his brain. Occasionally, he stopped with exhaustion, but on each occasion before he had got back his breath he started again, saying aloud: “I must waste no time. Where is he? Where is he?”
The inhumanly human cry of jackals desolated the night. He paused and imitated them. Then, having scrambled faster and faster in the dark, he lay full-length, his airless lungs seeming to be about to burst open his great, hairy chest.
The pale-green dawn came up the sky and washed the rocks with its colour. Looking around him he saw close at hand the rope by which Sylvester had climbed down the face of the cliff. The place seemed friendly: here he could find release.
He stepped to the edge of the cliff and looked down. A faint mist clouded the hollow below where his companion was lying. For a moment he swayed, and then, with a start, drew back. He tried to totter over the brink, but could not. Something held him back—fear!