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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


We bathed our wounds and bandaged them with strips from our
shirts. Then we arranged our clothing for cushions and pillows as
well as possible, took another drink, and lay down to sleep.
We must have slept a great many hours. There was no way to judge
of time, but when we awoke our joints were as stiff as though
they had gotten rusty with the years. I was brought to
consciousness by the sound of Harry's voice calling my name.
Somehow--for every movement was exquisite pain--we got to our
feet and reached the water, having first removed our clothing.
But we were now at that point where to drink merely aggravated
our hunger. Harry was in a savage humor, and when I laughed at
him he became furious.
"Have some sense. I tell you, I must eat! If it were not for
your--"
"Go easy, Hal. Don't say anything you'll be sorry for. And I
refuse to consider the sordid topic of food as one that may
rightfully contain the elements of tragedy. We seem to be in the
position of the king of vaudeville. If we had some ham we'd have
some ham and eggs--if we had some eggs."
"You may joke, but I am not made of iron!" he cried.
"And what can we do but die?" I demanded.


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