"Come on, Jim."
Still no movement.
"What's the matter, Jim? Come on."
He turned to us a face that was grey and deathlike.
"Go on, boys. Don't mind me. My time's up. I'm an old man. I'm only keeping you back. Without me you've got a chance; with me you've got none. Leave me here with a gun. I can shoot an' rustle grub. You boys can come back for me. You'll find old Jim spry an' chipper, awaitin' you with a smile on his face. Now go, boys. You'll go, won't you?"
"Go be darned!" said the Prodigal. "You know we'll never leave you, Jim. You know the code of the trail. What d'ye take us for—skunks? Come on, we'll carry you if you can't walk."
He shook his head pitifully, but once more he crawled after us. We ourselves were making no great speed. Lack of food was beginning to tell on us. Our stomachs were painfully empty and dead.
"How d'ye feel?" asked the Prodigal. His face had an arrestively hollow look, but that frozen smile was set on it.
"All right," I said, "only terribly weak. My head aches at times, but I've got no pain."
"Neither have I. This starving racket's a cinch. It's dead easy. What rot they talk about the gnawing pains of hunger, an' ravenous men chewing up their boot-tops. It's easy. There's no pain. I don't even feel hungry any more."