Criticism will change
men's dogmas, but it will not change man's nature.
CHAPTER XXVII
MY confidence was restored, and with it my powers of
endurance. Sleep was out of the question. The night was
bright and frosty; and there was not heat enough in my body
to dry my flannel shirt. I made shift to pull up some briar
bushes; and, piling them round me as a screen, got some
little shelter from the light breeze. For hours I lay
watching Alpha Centauri - the double star of the Great Bear's
pointers - dipping under the Polar star like the hour hand of
a clock. My thoughts, strange to say, ran little on the
morrow; they dwelt almost solely upon William Nelson. How
far was I responsible, to what extent to blame, for leading
him, against his will, to death? I re-enacted the whole
event. Again he was in my hands, still breathing when I let
him go, knowing, as I did so, that the deed consigned him
living to his grave. In this way I passed the night.
Just as the first streaks of the longed-for dawn broke in the
East, I heard distant cries which sounded like the whoops of
Indians. Then they ceased, but presently began again much
nearer than before. There was no mistake about them now, -
they were the yappings of a pack of wolves, clearly enough,
upon our track of yesterday. A few minutes more, and the
light, though still dim, revealed their presence coming on at
full gallop.
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