I unwrapped the poncho; then, crawling on my hands and knees, searched about the ground. As I had expected, I found another full platter and basin. I had just set the latter down after taking a hearty drink when I heard Harry's voice.
"Paul."
"Here, lad."
"I was afraid you had gone. I've just had the most devilish dream about Desiree. She was doing some crazy dance on top of a mountain or something, and there was fire, and—Paul! Paul, was it a dream?"
"No, Hal; I saw it myself. But come, we'll talk later. Here's some dried fish for breakfast."
"Ah! That—that—now I remember! And she fell! I'm going—"
But I wanted no more fever or delirium, and I interrupted him sternly:
"Harry! Listen to me! Are you a baby or a man? Talk straight or shut up, and don't whine like a fool. If you have any courage, use it."
It was stiff medicine, but he needed it, and it worked. There was a silence, then his voice came, steady enough:
"You know me better than that, Paul. Only—if it were not for Desiree—but I'll swallow it. I think I've been sick, haven't I?"