He saw poor Wainsworth again, and heard him beg that the child be given a chance. He thought of the man’s shattered life, his escape from persecution, his isolation, in which he had preferred the society of his Indian wife and child to association with his kind. Then he blamed himself for coming further into this deserted region, when he knew that by going back, at least he could find something for the child to eat—something that would save its life!
But he could not forget that he himself was a refugee. Wrongly or rightly, Randolph was still on his track. Nothing in his own case had been altered, but the case was no longer one concerning himself alone. He took the child on his arm, where he had carried him already many miles, and faced about.
“Partner, let them take me,” he said. “I wish them joy of it.”
He started back for Boston, for in the child’s present extremity, the nearest place where he could be sure of finding food was the only one worthy a thought.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
REPUDIATED SILVER.
Sometime, along toward the middle of the night, Adam tripped, on a root which lay in his path, and in catching himself so that his small partner should not be injured, he sprained his foot. He proceeded onward without sparing the member, however, for he had begun to feel a fever of impatience.
His foot swelled. It finally pained him excessively, so that he limped. He wore away the night, but when the morning came, he was obliged to snatch an hour of sleep, so great was the sense of exhaustion come upon him.
His face had become pale. With his hair unkempt, his eyes expressive of the fever in his veins and his mouth somewhat drawn, he was not a little haggard, as he resumed his lame, onward march. The child in his arms was no burden to his enduring strength, but as a load on his heart the little chap was heavy indeed. Sleeping, the miniature man appeared to be sinking in a final rest, so wan had his tiny face become. Waking, he gazed at Adam with such a dumb inquiry ever present in his great, wistful eyes, that Rust began to wish he would complain—would cry, would make some little sound to break his baby silence.
They were obliged to rest frequently, throughout the day. Try as he might, Adam could not cover the ground rapidly. Whenever he resumed walking, after sitting for a moment on a log, or a rock, he found his foot had become so bad that, in the late afternoon, he gave up halting thus altogether.