He
discovered, much to his surprise, that he was ready to drop from
fatigue and that his hands were torn and blistered; when he had
climbed the rope to the upper air he fell exhausted in the deep
grass. "I--I'm not myself at all," he apologized; "nothing to eat,
you know. But the work will go faster now, for I've made a
beginning."
"Do you still think--" Rosa hesitated to voice the question which
trembled on her lips.
"I'll know for sure to-night." He directed Jacket to replace the
planks over the well; then the three of them stole away.
O'Reilly spent most of that day in a profound stupor of
exhaustion, while Rosa watched anxiously over him. Jacket, it
seemed, had peacefully slumbered on picket duty, so he occupied
himself by grinding away at his knife. The last scraps of food
disappeared that evening.
When night fell and it came time to return to the top of La
Cumbre, O'Reilly asked himself if his strength would prove
sufficient for the task in hand. He was spiritless, sore, weak; he
ached in every bone and muscle, and it required all his
determination to propel himself up the hill. He wondered if he
were wise thus to sacrifice his waning energies on a hope so
forlorn as this, but by now he had begun to more than half believe
in the existence of the Varona treasure and he felt an almost
irresistible curiosity to learn what secret, if any, was concealed
behind those water-soaked timbers at the bottom of the well.
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