“He groaned, and his eyes became cold and savage, like a starved wolf’s.
“I gave him his lyed corn and he ate. His delirium returned. He cursed Recontre bitterly. He clenched his feverish, white hands about the imaginary neck of Zephyr Recontre; and I smiled.
“In two days more all the lyed corn had been eaten. In the meanwhile the surface of the snow had hardened with the intense cold. I could have hunted, for I was not yet too weak, and there was a gun and plenty of ammunition. But I did not go hunting. I saw Latour weakening rapidly. He might die during my absence, and I would thus lose the sweetness of my revenge. It seemed to me that this would be like selling my birthright for a mess of pottage.
“I could have taken the gun and gone south over the snow to Fort Pierre, several hundred miles down the river. But I did not go. Latour had not died yet After he died, if I could still walk, I might go.
“All day I sat beside the little box stove, gazing upon Latour. At night I slept lightly, awakening often to see how fever and hunger dealt with Latour. He might die while I slept.
“One day in December, I cannot remember just when, for I myself was often delirious with hunger, Latour again awakened from delirium.
“‘Food, food!’ he gasped. ‘For God’s sake, Recontre, don’t let a man starve like this! Let’s make it up between us; only give me something to eat!’
“His voice was thin like a sick woman’s. His face was the face of a damned man.