Each island, they now knew, was only
a hole of salt water with mangrove trees growing in it. And the
islands ran on and on into the distance.
The sun now was rising to the height of its power and its burning rays
beat mercilessly down upon the parched pair. Seeking a moment's relief
from its heat they thrust themselves into a clump of mangroves and
rested. Neither spoke. They had but one thought: "Water!" and each
feared to utter it because of the effect upon his companion. As they
leaned against the rootlike branches of the mangroves dark shadows
moved above them. They looked up. The buzzards were leisurely
following their progress.
Through the rest of the day they plunged ahead, the rest halts becoming
more and more frequent, and with no break in the monotony of mud and
islands. As evening approached they stopped and prepared for the
night. Higgins now was all but a wreck. His weight was beginning to
tell upon him and his thirst had become torture. With his knife Payne
cut armfuls of branches from the nearest island and piled them high
upon the mats for a sleeping place.
Higgins climbed to his improvised couch ere daylight had gone from the
sky and at once fell asleep. As he slept he babbled. He ordered bell
boys to bring him ice water, commanded Mexican water carriers to pass
him a canteen; and muttered fretfully that they brought him empty
vessels.
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