ake the cache
now--and I'm going to sleep," he said.

Weston let his pack drop, and, unrolling their blankets, they
stretched themselves out beneath a great black pine. They had made
their last effort, and their strength was spent. There was, it seemed,
no escape. In the meanwhile, mind and body craved for sleep.

CHAPTER X

THE HOTEL-KEEPER

The sun was high in the heavens when Weston awakened, ravenous, with
an almost intolerable stitch in his side. He rose with a stagger, and
then sat down again, while his face went awry, and took out his pipe.
He had still a very little tobacco left, and he fancied that it might
deaden the pangs of hunger. Then he glanced at Grenfell, who lay fast
asleep close by, with his blanket falling away from him. The man's
face was half buried among the withered needles which were thick in
his unkempt hair, and he lay huddled together, grotesque and unsightly
in ragged disarray. Weston vacantly noticed the puffiness of his
cheeks, and the bagginess beneath his eyes. The stamp of indulgence
was very plain upon him, and the younger man, who had led a simple,
strenuous life, was sensible of a certain repulsion from him.

He realized also that were he alone it was just possible that, before
his strength failed him altogether, he might reach the spot where they
had cached their provisions, and for several minutes he grappled with
the question whether he should make the attempt. Then he brushed aside
the arguments that seemed to warrant it, and admitted that in all
probability Grenfell would have succumbed before he could get back
again. After all, this outcast who had led him into the wilderness on
a fruitless search was his comrade, and they had agreed to share and
share alike. That Grenfell had at the most only a few years of
indulgence still in front of him did not affect the question. The
specious reasons which seemed to prove that he would be warranted in
deserting his comrade would not fit in with his simple code, which,
avoiding all side issues, laid down very simply the things one could
not do.

Rising stiffly, he laid the flour-bag, which he had not shaken
absolutely empty, by Grenfell's side; and, taking from his pocket an
indelible pencil that he happened to have with him, he moistened the
point of it and scrawled a message across a piece of the almost-empty
package in which they had carried their tea.

"Gone to look for a deer," it read, and he laid a stone on it where