Angel lifted something out of the pot with a long spoon, said curtly, "Stuff's ready," and began to ladle out the steaming mixture. The men moved toward him with their large tin cups, and then moved back to eat. The largest portion of all Angel kept for himself. The next largest he brought to the sitting man, stumbling as he did so over a root that tangled his shoe. But he caught himself before he had spilled the contents of the cup and said, "Here y'are, Crusoe."
Crusoe. A strange name. Not his at all. But he said automatically, "Thank you."
Angel had lifted a spoonful of the stew to his own mouth. Now he gulped it down hastily and said, "Hey fellows, he sounds like he came out of it."
The other men gathered around him. Professor, staring with sharp eyes, asked, "Do you recall your real name now?"
He shook his head. "I don't remember a thing. How did I get here?"
"You don't remember that?"
He said with irritation, "I have just told you so."
"Don't get huffy, chum," said Angel. "I been feedin' you and takin' care of you and your pal for two weeks. And you don't know a thing about it, huh?"
"I recall nothing. Except that there is danger."