“I go too,” he stated simply.
“Well, then, it’s decided.” Sandy arose and gazed out across the rough, broken strip of land to the south, conscious of a sinking feeling within.
To attempt to escape by way of the ravine was, as he well knew, a desperate hazard. Their chance of getting through safely was slim indeed—with every advantage in favor of their ruthless enemy.
“It’s the only thing we can do,” he declared, turning again toward his two companions and speaking in a low, trembling voice.
Dick evaded Sandy’s direct gaze and he, too, looked out upon that weird, desolate view. The afternoon sun was very bright and the rocks, gray and white and brown, were like blinding mirrors to his eyes. Somewhere, deep down within his breast, he could feel the beginning of a sob—a choking, helpless feeling difficult to express.
“My throat’s dry,” said Sandy, “and I’d like to have a drink.”
“I go for water,” volunteered Toma.
Dick wheeled about quickly.
“No! No! Don’t be a fool, Toma. We’ll have to stand it. You can’t risk your life now.”
In dull, aching monotony, the afternoon passed. The sun slipped down through a bank of clouds to a flaming northwestern sky. Innumerable shadows, spreading grotesquely about them, grew dark, then velvet-black, merging finally into one complete inky blot.