CHAPTER XVI
Separated
Slowly, as though awaking from a drugged sleep, Roy Manley came to himself. His eyes stared upward through a screen of green foliage tangled above him. He twitched his shoulders and felt the hard earth beneath them. Weakly, he turned his head from side to side, trying vainly to force his sluggish brain into activity by impressing upon it some familiar sight, so that he might recall his situation. Of course he knew where he was. It was just that he was tired and couldn’t think well. In a moment it would come to him. He would lie here a bit longer until those confounded trees stopped whirling around, then he’d get up.
Let’s see, now. He was in the woods, that was certain. And that murmuring in the distance—or was the whirr within his own head? Cautiously Roy raised his hand, passed it gently over his disheveled hair. Snakes, what a lump! How did he get that? Dully he rubbed the spot where the bruise was and found the hair matted.
“Must have gotten a terrific sock,” he muttered. “That’s blood. Funny it doesn’t ache. Golly, it’s cold! Better build a fire.”
He sat up uncertainly. Then he made a stupendous discovery.
“Why, I’m all wet!” he exclaimed in amazement. He fingered his soggy vest and stared stupidly down at his soaked shoes. “How did that happen? No wonder I’m cold! And I guess I won’t build a fire, either, for if I’m wet the matches will be wet; that is, if I have any. And if the matches are wet I’ll be wet—I mean the opposite—” He snapped his fingers and shook his head impatiently. Talking to himself like a little child! The thing to do was to find out where he was and how he arrived here. Perhaps if he got out in the sun and away from the shade of this tree he might be warmer. Automatically he struggled to his feet.
A moan of pain escaped him, and he sat down suddenly, his hand twitching to his right ankle. Broken? He moved the foot carefully, and, although the effort was agony, he found that it was just a little sprained. Well, he’d have to take it easy. A sprain was bad while it lasted, but it would mend itself. There was no need of setting it, like a fracture.
Again he arose, gently this time, and it was a relief to discover that by favoring the injured ankle he could move about slowly. Without knowing exactly where he was going, except that it was warmer in the sun, he limped forward. The liquid murmur he had heard before grew louder as he moved toward it, and presently he came in sight of a river. It recalled nothing to him beyond the fact that he was very thirsty, and, making his way to the bank, he threw himself face downward and drank. Refreshed, he arose once more and looked about him.
The opposite side of the stream was about four hundred yards away, with no sign of help there. Turning to the left, he limped along the shore, and found that the river broadened greatly just below him. Following the shore line he made another discovery—that he was on an island!
As his eye followed the rim of land he saw that it swept about in a half circle, the other half of the ring being behind him. Again he put his hand to his head, this time in wondering amazement. An island! How did he get here? The river! Undoubtedly that was the cause of his saturated clothing. But why had he gone in the water with his clothes on? Desperately he tried to concentrate, to remember. He closed his eyes and lashed his memory cruelly. Think! Think! A black shape in front. Darkness. A flash of fire, blinding in its intensity. His fingers reaching out for that black shape, seeking to cling to it, to draw him up. Water roaring in his ears. The rock!