Soon
they saw him, and a feeble shout greeted his approach. Trent was
within hailing distance before he recognised the European. Then,
with a little exclamation of surprise, he saw that it was Captain
Francis.
They met face to face in a moment, but Francis never recognised him.
His eyes were bloodshot, a coarse beard disguised his face, and his
clothes hung about him in rags. Evidently he was in a terrible
plight. When he spoke his voice sounded shrill and cracked.
"We are starving men," he said; "can you help us?"
"Of course we can," Trent answered quickly. "This way. We've
plenty of stores."
The little party stumbled eagerly after him. In a few moments they
were at the camp. Trent roused his companions, packages were
hastily undone and a meal prepared. Scarcely a word was said or a
question asked. One or two of the Kru boys seemed on the verge of
insanity - Francis himself was hysterical and faint. Trent boiled
a kettle and made some beef-tea himself. The first mouthful Francis
was unable to swallow. His throat had swollen and his eyes were
hideously bloodshot. Trent, who had seen men before in dire straits,
fed him from a spoon and forced brandy between his lips. Certainly,
at the time, he never stopped to consider that he was helping back
to life the man who in all the world was most likely to do him ill.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213