Hal kept his fire going until the red glare of dawn forced its light through the jungle mists. Gradually the awful gloom lifted and he was able to take stock of his surroundings. Swamp, trees with creepers and clinging vines growing in the spaces between, and high overhead, a flock of urubus (Amazonian vultures) circled in monotonous precision.
Hal rubbed his heavy-lidded eyes vigorously and shook his disheveled red hair back into place as best he could. The drone of the whirling vultures just evident with the advent of dawn already annoyed him. What would they be if help did not come before another premature twilight had settled over the forest? He dared not think of it.
He could not bring himself to the thought of a grave for Rodriguez in the jungle. It seemed to be an admission that there was no hope for rescue. Yet there were the vultures waiting, waiting....
Mid-morning came and despite the grim presence of death, Hal felt savagely hungry and thirsty. He had been careful about his cigarettes; there were six left. He selected one now and though in need of its soothing reaction, he could not smoke it because of his empty stomach. And as a gesture of economy he pinched it out and replaced the stub in the pack.
After a period of inactivity, he suddenly decided to leave his gruesome charge for a few moments and go visit the scene of the wreck, just for something to do. It made him feel inexpressibly sad, however, for in viewing it he saw that two of the surrounding trees had burned considerably and their charred trunks were sagging in such a way as to cause the foliage on the upper limbs to lean toward the foliage of the adjoining trees and thus screen off a good part of the clearing from above.
There was little left of the plane but the framework, and the crippled motor was all but buried in the mire. Hal gave it but a hurried glance and walked back to his little camp, steeped in despair. He couldn’t put down the thought that Carmichael had not succeeded and that he need not expect any help from that source.
He would not give in to those imps of discouragement within, but bravely kept his eyes on that chink of sky shining through the trees. Noon came and was gone, the vultures had increased in number and Hal saw, with sinking heart, that they were getting bolder, flying lower and lower.
He gathered a quantity of dead leaves, all the foliage that he could find in the immediate neighborhood, and made a temporary bier for the dead airman. In lifting him over into it, he felt something hard and bulging in the back pocket of his trousers. Hal drew it out and saw to his joy that it was a thirty-eight calibre revolver and seemed to be fully loaded.
A further search of the young man’s pockets revealed nothing but some small change and the usual miscellaneous collection one is apt to find. Hal sighed with relief when the task was over and carefully put all his findings into Rodriguez’ helmet.
That done, he sat down and made a careful inspection of the gun. True to his first hope, there wasn’t a chamber discharged and this discovery gave Hal pause, for it occurred to him that Rodriguez had had in his possession a most effectual weapon with which to make good his intention of bailing out in the parachute. Why then had he not used it?