fling ghastly fragments on the embers, and eat the
broil before it is right warm. In the morning the frightful carcase is
divided. That day's march takes place in silence, and at midday halt
Cornelius volunteers to carry the billy, affecting great restoration
from the food. Vetch gives it to him, and in half an hour afterwards
Cornelius is missing. Gabbett and Greenhill pursue him in vain, and
return with curses. "He'll die like a dog," said Greenhill, "alone in
the bush." Jemmy Vetch, with his intellect acute as ever, thinks that
Cornelius may prefer such a death, but says nothing.

The twelfth morning dawns wet and misty, but Vetch, seeing the provision
running short, strives to be cheerful, telling stories of men who have
escaped greater peril. Vetch feels with dismay that he is the weakest
of the party, but has some sort of ludicro-horrible consolation in
remembering that he is also the leanest. They come to a creek that
afternoon, and look, until nightfall, in vain for a crossing-place. The
next day Gabbett and Vetch swim across, and Vetch directs Gabbett to cut
a long sapling, which, being stretched across the water, is seized by
Greenhill and the Moocher, who are dragged over.

"What would you do without me?" said the Crow with a ghastly grin.

They cannot kindle a fire, for Greenhill, who carries the tinder, has
allowed it to get wet. The giant swings his axe in savage anger at
enforced cold, and Vetch takes an opportunity to remark privately to him
what a big man Greenhill is.

On the fourteenth day they can scarcely crawl, and their limbs pain
them. Greenhill, who is the weakest, sees Gabbett and the Moocher go
aside to consult, and crawling to the Crow, whimpers: "For God's sake,
Jemmy, don't let 'em murder me!"

"I can't help you," says Vetch, looking about in terror. "Think of poor
Tom Bodenham."

"But he was no murderer. If they kill me, I shall go to hell with Tom's
blood on my soul." He writhes on the ground in sickening terror, and
Gabbett arriving, bids Vetch bring wood for the fire. Vetch, going, sees
Greenhill clinging to wolfish Gabbett's knees, and Sanders calls after
him, "You will hear it presently, Jem."

The nervous Crow puts his hand to his ears, but is conscious of a dull
crash and a groan. When he comes back, Gabbett is putting on the dead
man's shoes, which are better than his own.

"We'll stop here a day or so and rest," said he, "now we've got
provisions."

Two more days pass,