CHAPTER XIII

ALONE AND WAITING

Hal kept his fire going until the red glare of dawn forced its light through the jungle mists. Gradually the awful gloom lifted and he was able to take stock of his surroundings. Swamp, trees with creepers and clinging vines growing in the spaces between, and high overhead, a flock of _urubus_ (Amazonian vultures) circled in monotonous precision.

Hal rubbed his heavy-lidded eyes vigorously and shook his disheveled red hair back into place as best he could. The drone of the whirling vultures just evident with the advent of dawn already annoyed him. What would they be if help did not come before another premature twilight had settled over the forest? He dared not think of it.

He could not bring himself to the thought of a grave for Rodriguez in the jungle. It seemed to be an admission that there was no hope for rescue. Yet there were the vultures waiting, waiting....

Mid-morning came and despite the grim presence of death, Hal felt savagely hungry and thirsty. He had been careful about his cigarettes; there were six left. He selected one now and though in need of its soothing reaction, he could not smoke it because of his empty stomach. And as a gesture of economy he pinched it out and replaced the stub in the pack.

After a period of inactivity, he suddenly decided to leave his gruesome charge for a few moments and go visit the scene of the wreck, just for something to do. It made him feel inexpressibly sad, however, for in viewing it he saw that two of the surrounding trees had burned considerably and their charred trunks were sagging in such a way as to cause the foliage on the upper limbs to lean toward the foliage of the adjoining trees and thus screen off a good part of the clearing from above.

There was little left of the plane but the framework, and the crippled motor was all but buried in the mire. Hal gave it but a hurried glance and walked back to his little camp, steeped in despair. He couldn’t put down the thought that Carmichael had not succeeded and that he need not expect any help from that source.

He would not give in to those imps of discouragement within, but bravely kept his eyes on that chink of sky shining through the trees. Noon came and was gone, the vultures had increased in number and Hal saw, with sinking heart, that they were getting bolder, flying lower and lower.

He gathered a quantity of dead leaves, all the foliage that he could find in the immediate neighborhood, and made a temporary bier for the dead airman. In lifting him over into it, he felt something hard and bulging in the back pocket of his trousers. Hal drew it out and saw to his joy that it was a thirty-eight calibre revolver and seemed to be fully loaded.

A further search of the young man’s pockets revealed nothing but some small change and the usual miscellaneous collection one is apt to find. Hal sighed with relief when the task was over and carefully put all his findings into Rodriguez’ helmet.

That done, he sat down and made a careful inspection of the gun. True to his first hope, there wasn’t a chamber discharged and this discovery gave Hal pause, for it occurred to him that Rodriguez had had in his possession a most effectual weapon with which to make good his intention of bailing out in the parachute. Why then had he not used it?

Hal came to the conclusion that it must have been because Rodriguez’ character was a contradiction. Though he could participate in a murderous plot, when it came to carrying it out, he thought more of the effect that it would have on his soul, than he did of his beloved _Cause_.

“Not a half bad scout at that, poor devil,” Hal summed it up. “How do I know what my behavior would be under a like condition? I certainly wouldn’t see innocent people crash to their deaths and keep an easy conscience.”

Hal pocketed his gun carefully and rambled about the neighborhood the remainder of the afternoon. Just before the gloom crept into the clearing he bethought himself of all the fantastic tales he had heard of the bounty of the Amazon jungle. Most of the stories gave one the impression that food could be had by reaching out and plucking it from the fruit-laden trees. Never, he realized, was a condition more exaggerated, for the primeval jungle in which he was lost had little or nothing to offer in the way of food.

He had found a few trees which seemed to offer some promise of allaying his hunger, but after a few bites of the fruit he was forced to throw it down in disgust. It was too bitter for human consumption. Other fruit which looked more palatable he was afraid to touch, fearing poisoning might be the result.

And so just as the first shadows of the premature twilight stalked the jungle, Hal espied an _inambu_, or forest fowl, fluttering homeward for the night. A well-timed shot, however, intercepted him and he fell straight into the clearing.

Hal’s hopes rose a little after that. He found, surprisingly, that he could do wonders with his two bare hands. The fowl was plucked and given as good a cleaning as was possible, considering the lack of water. And if he was a little skeptical as to its sanitary merits, he did not allow the thought to spoil the pleasant anticipation of a poultry dinner.

He gathered wood again, piles of it, and built a fine fire. Darkness had settled before the meal was cooked, but Hal was indifferent to everything save his primitive cooking. The fowl required all his attention and had to be roasted over the fire by means of a stick which he had broken at one end into a sort of make-shift prong.

He consumed the whole bird, and though it was rather tasteless without salt, he was thankful for that much. Water he tried not to think of. Sleep he could have for the taking, and he set about piling wood onto the fire so that he could sleep for an hour or two without fear of having the jungle night prowlers disturb his much-needed slumber.

The hands of his wrist watch pointed to eight o’clock as he settled himself close to the fire. The heat was a little uncomfortable, but he dared not risk sleeping away from its protecting glow. And as he shut his eyes to the dismal solitude about him, his prayer was a hope that tomorrow would bring help.

But Hal was to learn that tomorrow never comes.