He was very far gone, lying in a dreadful twisted heap, his head, with
its bloodstained bandages, resting on his arm. Yet Durant saw that he
still lived, and tried with gentle hands to ease the strain of his
position.
With a sharp gasp, Ford opened his eyes.
"Hullo!" he said. "It's you, is it? Did they get the water?"
"They have got it by now," the doctor answered.
"Ah!" The man's lips twisted in a difficult smile. He struggled bravely
to keep the mortal agony out of his face. "Gave you the slip that time,"
he gasped. "Disobeyed orders, too. But it didn't matter--except for
example. You must tell them, eh? Dying men have privileges."
"Tell him he'd have had the V. C. for it," whispered the officer in
command, over the doctor's shoulder.
Durant complied, and caught the quick gleam that shot up in the dying
eyes at his words.
"The gods were always behind time--with me," came the husky whisper. "I
used to think I'd scale Olympus, but--they kicked me down. If--if
there's any water to spare, when it's gone round, I--I----"
He broke off with a rending cough. Some one put a tin cup into the
doctor's hand, and he held it to the parched lips. Ford drank in great
gulps, and, as he drank, the worst agony passed. His limbs relaxed after
the draught, and he lay quite still, his face to the sky.
After the passage of minutes he spoke again suddenly.
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