With a groan of despair, Acton ran
back down the slope.
"Jack! Jack! Jack!" he howled above the wind, "Where are you?"
There was no reply
"He's lost!"
Further down the slope ran Acton, shouting into the storm. He heard
nothing; not a sound. Then, and his heart almost burst with joy, his eye
caught sight of a moving, staggering figure, drifting aimlessly across
his path. Senior, half his senses beaten out of him by cold, wet, the
wind, and lack of food, looked at the screaming Acton with
uncomprehending eyes, and was aimlessly shaking off his grasp to lounge
easily to death.
"He _has_ cracked up," said Acton, in despair, and he gripped the
half-senseless youth with frenzied strength.
"This is the way you're to go--with me!" he yelled.
Half-dragging, half-coaxing, uttering strange promises, to which Senior
smiled stupidly, Acton regained those few but terrible yards to the top
of the ridge. Then his heart almost died within him: there was nothing
to be seen, as, half-blinded by the snow, he tried to peer down the
valley.
"Nothing!"
Senior, bereft of his companion's arm, had sunk down happily upon the
snow and looked at Acton, stupidly trying to make head or tail out of
the situation. His face was darkly flushed; his lips were swollen; and
his eyes were heavy with sleep.
Roused from his momentary despair by these terrible signs, Acton seized
his friend by the throat of his overcoat, and jerked him to his feet. He
shook him savagely until some sign of intelligence glimmered in the
sleepy eyes.
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