an hour he stopped and rested, lighting a match to look at his watch.  He allowed himself exactly five minutes and floundered up and went on again.  Doggedly he sought to shut his mind to the pain stabbing through his weary feet, to the constriction of his throat, to the ache of his body so sorely and so long punished.  When, had matters been different, he might have cried out:  ‘God, for a drink!’ he now muttered dully, ‘God, put him into my two hands !’

The fine, delicate machinery of a human brain, like any man-made mechanism of great nicety, may readily be thrown into confusion, its exquisite balance disturbed, its functioning confounded.  Thirst, near-exhaustion, severe bodily distress and, on top of all, blood-lust anger made Alan Howard over into another man.  He was possessed, obsessed.  As the night wore on endlessly he created for himself visions; he came a thousand times upon the Indian; he sank his fingers and thumbs into a corded throat; he beat with his fists at the pulp of a face.  He grew accustomed to his own voice, muttering ceaselessly.  He heard himself praying as another man; the burden of his prayers was always the same:  ‘Deliver him, O Lord, into mine hands.’  He was half mad for water and he cursed Kish Taka; he drove his body on when the agonized muscles rebelled and, driving mercilessly, he cursed Kish Taka.

Somehow the night passed and through it he staggered on.  He fell as he had seen the Indian fall; he recalled that the Indian had arisen and he rose.  Each time that he failed in something that he tried to do it was as though an imp jeered and taunted him, calling to him:  ’Ho!  The Indian is a better man.  He is off there in the darkness, laughing at you!’

There came a time when he stumbled at every step, when he pitched forward frequently and lay inert and had to gather his strength to get up; when he wondered if he was going mad or if already he had gone mad; when his thirst was a killing agony and he knew that it was in truth killing him; when he crawled on his hands and knees up slight slopes; when the stars danced and he frowned at them stupidly, seeking the North Star, seeking to know which way led to Kish Taka.  When the first faint glint of dawn sweetened the air he was lying on his back; he felt, rather than saw, that a new day was blossoming.  He collected his wandering faculties, fought with the lassitude which stole upon him whenever his senses were not on the alert and sat up.  And he would have cried out aloud at what he saw were not his throat and mouth and lips so dry that he was beyond calling out.  For yonder, a blurred moving shape came toward him.  The shape was a man’s, and he knew that it was Kish Taka.