I went to him, not as one goes to something one has made or done,
but as one approaches something found.
He was frightfully smashed out in front; he must have died in the
instant. I stooped and raised him by his shoulder and realised that. I
dropped him, and stood about and peered about me through the trees. "My
word!" I said. He was the second dead human being--apart, I mean, from
surgical properties and mummies and common shows of that sort--that I
have ever seen. I stood over him wondering, wondering beyond measure.
A practical idea came into that confusion. Had any one heard the gun?
I reloaded.
After a time I felt securer, and gave my mind again to the dead I had
killed. What must I do?
It occurred to me that perhaps I ought to bury him. At any rate, I ought
to hide him. I reflected coolly, and then put my gun within easy reach
and dragged him by the arm towards a place where the mud seemed soft,
and thrust him in. His powder-flask slipped from his loin-cloth, and I
went back to get it. Then I pressed him down with the butt of my rifle.
Pages:
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587