“Feeling more fit, are you? Well, take another sup of broth. Can’t let you eat anything solid for a bit, but you can have all of the broth now if you want it.”
As he stooped over him the young man’s fingers caught at his shirt sleeve and pulled him down to listen to his whispered words.
“Pull me out of this––quickly––quickly––there’s a––party––down the––mountain––dying of thirst. Is this Higgins’ Camp? I––I––tried to get there for––for help.” He panted and could say no more.
The big man whistled softly. “Thought you’d get to Higgins’ Camp? You’re sixty miles out of the way––or more,––twice that, way you’ve come. You took the wrong trail and you’ve gone forty miles one way when you should have gone as far on the other. I did it myself once, and never undid it.”
The patient looked hungrily at the tin cup from which he had been taking the broth. “Can you give me a little more?”
“Yes, drink it all. It won’t hurt ye.”
“I’ve got to get up. They’ll die.” He struggled and succeeded in lifting himself to his elbow and with the effort he spoke more strongly. “May I have another taste of the 174 whisky? I’m coming stronger now. I left them yesterday with all the food––only a bit––and a little water––not enough to keep them alive much longer. Yesterday––God help them––was it yesterday––or days ago?”
The older man had a slow, meditative manner of speech as if he had long been in the way of speaking only to himself, unhurried, and at peace. “It’s no use your trying to think that out, young man, and I can’t tell you. Nor you won’t be able to go for them in a while. No.”
“I must. I must if I die. I don’t care if I die––but they––I must go.” He tried again to raise himself, but fell back. Great drops stood out on his forehead and into his eyes crept a look of horror. “It’s there!” he said, and pointed with his finger.
“What’s there, man?”