Page 546 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

nity to remark privately to him what a big man Greenhill
is.
On the fourteenth day they can scarcely crawl, and their
limbs pain them. Greenhill, who is the weakest, sees Gab-
bett and the Moocher go aside to consult, and crawling to
the Crow, whimpers: ‘For God’s sake, Jemmy, don’t let ‘em
murder me!’
‘I can’t help you,’ says Vetch, looking about in terror.
‘Think of poor Tom Bodenham.’
‘But he was no murderer. If they kill me, I shall go to hell
with Tom’s blood on my soul.’ He writhes on the ground
in sickening terror, and Gabbett arriving, bids Vetch bring
wood for the fire. Vetch, going, sees Greenhill clinging to
wolfish Gabbett’s knees, and Sanders calls after him, ‘You
will hear it presently, Jem.’
The nervous Crow puts his hand to his ears, but is con-
scious of a dull crash and a groan. When he comes back,
Gabbett is putting on the dead man’s shoes, which are bet-
ter than his own.
‘We’ll stop here a day or so and rest,’ said he, ‘now we’ve
got provisions.’
Two more days pass, and the three, eyeing each other sus-
piciously, resume their march. The third day—the sixteenth
of their awful journey— such portions of the carcase as they
have with them prove unfit to eat. They look into each oth-
er’s famine-sharpened faces, and wonder ‘who’s next?’
‘We must all die together,’ said Sanders quickly, ‘before
anything else must happen.’
Vetch marks the terror concealed in the words, and when