We could do nothing for him except shelter him from the sun, and
wet his forehead with sea-water; nor could we think clearly for
ourselves as long as the spark of life lingered in him. His
chest rose and fell regularly, but with long pauses between.
When the sun was overhead he suddenly opened his eyes.
"Fellows," said he, "it's beautiful over there; the grass is so
green, and the water so cool; I am tired of marching, and I
reckon I'll cross over and camp."
Then he died. We scooped out a shallow hole above tide-mark,
and laid him in it, and piled over him stones from the wash.
Then we went back to the beach, very solemn, to talk it over.
"Now, boys," said I, "there seems to me just one thing to do, and
that is to pike out for water as fast as we can."
"Where?" asked Denton.
"Well," I argued, "I don't believe there's any water about this
bay. Maybe there was when that chart was made. It was a long
time ago. And any way, the old pirate was a sailor, and no
plainsman, and maybe he mistook rainwater for a spring. We've
looked around this end of the bay. The chances are we'd use up
two or three days exploring around the other, and then wouldn't
be as well off as we are right now.
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