It got to the point
where we had to have some REASON for getting out besides just
keeping alive. A man would sometimes rather die than keep alive,
anyway, if it came only to that. But I know I made up my mind I
was going to get out so I could smash up that Anderson, and I
reckon Denton had the same idea. Schwartz didn't say anything,
but he pumped on ahead of us, his back bent over, and his clothes
sagging and bulging with the gold he carried.
We used to travel all night, because it was cool, and rest an
hour or two at noon. That is all the rest we did get. I don't
know how fast we went; I'd got beyond that. We must have crawled
along mighty slow, though, after our first strength gave out.
The way I used to do was to collect myself with an effort, look
around for my bearings, pick out a landmark a little distance
off, and forget everything but it. Then I'd plod along, knowing
nothing but the sand and shale and slope under my feet, until I'd
reached that landmark. Then I'd clear my mind and pick out
another.
But I couldn't shut out the figure of Schwartz that way. He used
to walk along just ahead of my shoulder. His face was all
twisted up, but I remember thinking at the time it looked more as
if he was worried in his mind than like bodily suffering.
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