Hal looked about thoughtfully, but seeing that it was the only suitable spot in sight, he lay Rodriguez down carefully. After that he hunted around them for a few sticks of wood and started a fire to keep away the mosquitoes.
That done, he set about trying to revive the pilot and after a trying five minutes saw his eyelids flicker, then open.
“It’s I, Rodriguez! Keen! We’re here—safe! How you feeling?”
The fellow seemed to understand perfectly, for he nodded and a look of hope came into the black eyes that were so filled with fear not fifteen minutes before. Hal noted that his lips, however, were an ashen gray.
“You saved the plane—yes?” Rodriguez muttered weakly.
“Nope,” Hal answered, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s up in smoke—fire. We should worry though, huh? We’re saved, anyhow.”
Rodriguez smiled feebly and lifted his head, looking around, interested. Suddenly he put his hand to his bandaged throat and a terrified expression filled his eyes.
“Is it danger—no?” he asked Hal.
“No,” Hal lied. “You’ve just got a bad cut, Rodriguez. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Just lie still and take it easy. I’ll get some more wood to keep these pesky mosquitoes away.”
“The glass she cut me—no?” He seemed to be obsessed by his wound.