"And yet you are almost certain to wear yourself out to no purpose if you carry me," she repeated. "If you could do it and get me through, I'd never stop you. I've a husband in America who loves me, and I want to get back to him, but you aren't equal to it. I see no advantage in dying a mile or ten miles inland. For one's grave, this is as good a place as any."
She spoke of dying in a matter-of-fact way that made him feel strange, though he thought of it in exactly the same way himself. He believed that he was a mere animal and that death was a mere cessation of energy. "I wonder if she feels just as I do about it," he pondered. "Perhaps not. But it can't matter anyway. Here we are, and death does seem fairly certain."
He was breathing more regularly now, though his throat burned and his tongue stuck to his mouth disagreeably.
"We'd better be moving," he said, rising with an effort.
"As you please," she assented.
Then, as he lifted her: "My ankle is swollen dreadfully. If we could find water, I'd bathe it and put a stick splint on it."
He did not answer. Silence fell between them while he plodded ahead. They started up the mountainside, and the way became increasingly difficult. There was a dense undergrowth through which he was compelled to shove his feet. There were rocks which she could not see, down which he was constantly slipping. Her directions barely kept him from bumping into the trees that grew closer and closer together. Occasionally she pushed a branch aside from before him, and laughed as he stooped to pass under, throwing her forward so that she had to cling to his neck to keep her position.
On and on he forced his way, his teeth clenched, his breath broken by the strain. She made herself as easy to carry as she could, but beyond that she showed no sign of sympathy. Again and again he was obliged to stop and put her down while he rested. His head was throbbing frightfully. He gave up trying to talk.
During one of their frequent rests she had asked him quietly, her eyes filled with a soft, calculative haze: "How much are you good for, Lawrence?"
He had answered: "Till we find water." She had laughed a little at that, and it had sounded unpleasant to him.