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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

And I was guilty of the same weakness.
But the despair of one inspired the other with fresh strength and
courage, and we struggled forward, slower and slower. It was
soul-destroying work. I believe that in the last hour we made not
more than half a mile. I know now that for the greater part of
the time we were merely retracing our steps in a vicious circle!
It was well that it ended when it did, for we could not have held
out much longer. Harry was leading the way, for I had found that
that slight responsibility fortified him. We no longer walked, we
barely went forward, staggering and reeling like drunken men.
Suddenly Harry stopped short, so suddenly that I ran against him;
and at the same time I felt a queer sensation--for I was too far
gone to recognize it--about my feet.
Then Harry stooped over quickly, half knocking me down as he did
so, and dropped to his knees; and the next instant gave an
unsteady cry of joy:
"Water! Man, it's water!"
How we drank and wallowed, and wallowed and drank! That water
might have contained all the poisons in the world and we would
have neither known nor cared. But it was cool, fresh, living--and
it saved our lives.


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