e mattered so much to the man;
but the thought of going to feed the maw of that loathsome and all but
dead thing was repugnant to him. He was finicky. His mind had begun to
wander again, and to be perplexed by hallucinations, while his lucid
intervals grew rarer and shorter.

He was awakened once from a faint by a wheeze close in his ear. The wolf
leaped lamely back, losing its footing and falling in its weakness. It
was ludicrous, but he was not amused. Nor was he even afraid. He was
too far gone for that. But his mind was for the moment clear, and he lay
and considered. The ship was no more than four miles away. He could see
it quite distinctly when he rubbed the mists out of his eyes, and he
could see the white sail of a small boat cutting the water of the shining
sea. But he could never crawl those four miles. He knew that, and was
very calm in the knowledge. He knew that he could not crawl half a mile.
And yet he wanted to live. It was unreasonable that he should die after
all he had undergone. Fate asked too much of him. And, dying, he
declined to die. It was stark madness, perhaps, but in the very grip of
Death he defied Death and refused to die.

He closed his eyes and composed himself with infinite precaution. He
steeled himself to keep above the suffocating languor that lapped like a
rising tide through all the wells of his being. It was very like a sea,
this deadly languor, that rose and rose and drowned his consciousness bit
by bit. Sometimes he was all but submerged, swimming through oblivion
with a faltering stroke; and again, by some strange alchemy of soul, he
would find another shred of will and strike out more strongly.

Without movement he lay on his back, and he could hear, slowly drawing
near and nearer, the wheezing intake and output of the sick wolf's
breath. It drew closer, ever closer, through an infinitude of time, and
he did not move. It was at his ear. The harsh dry tongue grated like
sandpaper against his cheek. His hands shot out--or at least he willed
them to shoot out. The fingers were curved like talons, but they closed
on empty air. Swiftness and certitude require strength, and the man had
not this strength.

The patience of the wolf was terrible. The man's patience was no less
terrible. For half a day he lay motionless, fighting off unconsciousness
and waiting for the thing that was to feed upon him and upon which he
wished to feed. Sometimes the languid