"Do you hear water
running? My God! Hig, there's solid land, there's----" He hurled
himself into the midst of the swordlike points of the scrub. Higgins,
made suddenly sane by his companion's apparent madness, stumbled after,
pleading, cajoling. Neither realized what happened during the next
seconds. Their first realization of the truth came as they grappled at
the brink of a rivulet, Payne striving to drink, Higgins pleading with
him to remember it was salt. The struggle sobered them. Higgins let
go.
"Do you see it, too, Payne? Do you see a creek?"
Payne's reply was to scoop up a handful of water and carry it to his
lips.
"Yes, I see a creek," he replied. Higgins followed his example. He
splashed his head in the clear, cool water, running clean and fresh
through a limestone channel from its source in the Everglades. Payne
did likewise. Then each drank a sparing sip of the precious stuff and
sat down to sip carefully and at intervals until the torture of thirst
had left them.
"The buzzards?" cried Payne, looking in vain for the grisly watchers.
Higgins grinned.
"They're awful wise birds, those fellows. They've turned back."
They remained by the creek until they were rested, forded it and went
on.
The ground now was hard and dry.
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