Higgins sat down on a mat and covered his face with his hands.
"I thought I could stick with you, Payne, but I'm no good," he panted.
"Head's gone all to pieces. I hear a creek clucking away, and all——"
"Do you hear it too?"
"What! You gone, too, Payne?"
"In there?" cried Payne, pointing into the scrub. "Do you hear water running? My God! Hig, there's solid land, there's——" He hurled himself into the midst of the swordlike points of the scrub. Higgins, made suddenly sane by his companion's apparent madness, stumbled after, pleading, cajoling. Neither realized what happened during the next seconds. Their first realization of the truth came as they grappled at the brink of a rivulet, Payne striving to drink, Higgins pleading with him to remember it was salt. The struggle sobered them. Higgins let go.
"Do you see it, too, Payne? Do you see a creek?"
Payne's reply was to scoop up a handful of water and carry it to his lips.
"Yes, I see a creek," he replied. Higgins followed his example. He splashed his head in the clear, cool water, running clean and fresh through a limestone channel from its source in the Everglades. Payne did likewise. Then each drank a sparing sip of the precious stuff and sat down to sip carefully and at intervals until the torture of thirst had left them.
"The buzzards?" cried Payne, looking in vain for the grisly watchers.
Higgins grinned.