The pain had been there all the
time, so it seemed; he was simply gaining the capacity to feel it.
He was ready to die now, he was so ill; moreover, his left arm
dangled and got in his way. Only that subconscious realization of
the necessity to keep going for Rosa's sake sustained him.
After a while he found himself on a forest trail; then he came to
other fields and labored across them. Fortune finally led his feet
down into a creek-bed, and he drank greedily, sitting upon a stone
and scooping the water up in his one useful hand. He was a long
time in quenching his thirst, and a longer time in getting up, but
he finally managed this, and he succeeded thereafter in keeping on
his feet. Daylight came at last to show him his way. More than
once he paused, alarmed, at voices in the woods, only to find that
the sounds issued from his own throat.
It had grown very hot now, so hot that heat-waves obscured his
vision and caused the most absurd forms to take shape. He began to
hunt aimlessly for water, but there was none. Evidently this heat
had parched the land, dried up the streams, and set the stones
afire. It was incredible, but true.
Esteban reasoned that he must be near home by this time, for he
had been traveling for days--for years. The country, indeed, was
altogether unfamiliar; he could not recall ever having seen the
path he trod, but for that matter everything was strange.
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