“Think I’m at the Pole.” A third man appeared with a tin of steaming soup, which the woman took from him.
“That’s good. Let Nomie feed you a little at a time, and if they don’t treat you right, yell for Wat and I’ll come running.” He grinned down at her, then spoke to Nomie, who nodded that she understood, but Roberta didn’t catch the words.
“Good,” said Nomie, as she sniffed the contents of the bowl. Then she took a crust of hard bread, dipped it into the liquid. “Too hot,” she told Roberta. “Eat little from crust.”
It was an odd way of taking nourishment, but Roberta was glad that she wasn’t required to sit up and eat, for although the brandy she had swallowed was tingling warmly, she was woefully tired and making any sort of physical effort seemed impossible. The “soup” tasted of clams and milk, and she thought she had never eaten anything better. Conscientiously Nomie fed her, a little at a time, until finally it was cooler and she used a spoon instead of the bread, but she did not hasten the performance. The men had withdrawn tactfully to the other side of the huge bon-fire which was being raked into a smaller space as it was no longer needed as a beacon. Roberta wondered dully how it had helped Mrs. Pollzoff to know where to come down, but just then she saw Slim passing with a bundle of rockets and understood that the gang must have been shooting them intermittently while they waited, and more frequently when they heard the plane roaring toward them out of the fog.
“More bye and bye,” Nomie said at last, and she handed the dish to the young girl. “Fix bed, Natell,” she added. The Indian girl hurried away, and presently Wat returned.
“Feel able to walk?” he asked gruffly.
“Guess so,” Roberta answered. She managed to get to her feet, and although she felt better, she was still wobbly.
“Give her a hand there,” Wat ordered.
“Good,” agreed Nomie and she slipped her strong arm about Roberta’s waist. “This way.” They proceeded slowly away from the fire, and presently, a few yards ahead, she saw a small blaze through the fog.
“Here you are!” Natell was standing in a low doorway.