A monkey scolded sharply from a near-by tree and instinctively Hal picked up a piece of dead limb and swung it at him.
“Can’t you see there’s a sick boy here who needs sleep!” he stage whispered to the animal above them.
The monkey stared down with an almost sad expression on its little old face. Then after he scolded some more he swung along to the opposite branch and was soon swallowed up in the dense foliage.
Hal continued to gather more wood after that, looking at his patient at five-minute intervals. But Rodriguez slept on, despite the fact that a fresh bandage had been adjusted—the pilot’s own handkerchief.
It was almost dark in the dense forest before Hal stopped. His pile of wood had become quite high—enough to do them for the long night, he thought, as he sat down on it to have a smoke.
A parrot screeched somewhere in the distance, the jungle teemed with life and sound, and yet it seemed to Hal he had never sat in such oppressive silence before. Suddenly, to his great delight, Rodriguez awakened and, noting the glow of their campfire, smiled.
“Ah, it is comfort, the fire,” he sighed. “You know the jungle—no?”
“Yes,” Hal answered with a cheerful smile. “I’ve been in Panama—yes. I know the jungle.”
“Ah,” the pilot sighed weakly and closed his eyes again.
Hal glanced at him quickly and a fear asserted itself. Rodriguez’ throat was still bleeding profusely—the fellow’s face had a ghastly look in the firelight.