Once or twice he half awoke, and remembered things dimly, but
these periods were very brief and he sank back into stupor. When he
awoke to stay awake the day was far advanced, and he felt an
overwhelming lassitude. He slowly unwound himself from his blankets and
looked at his hand. It was uncommonly white, and it seemed to him to be
as weak as that of a child.
He crept out of the thicket and rose to his feet. He was attacked by
dizziness and clutched a bush for support. His head still ached, though
not with the violence of the night before, but he was conscious that he
had become a very weak and poor specimen of the human being. Everything
seemed very far away, impossible to be reached.
He gathered strength enough to roll up his blankets and shoulder his
rifle. Then he looked about a little. There was the same alternation of
woods and prairie, devoid of any human being. He did not expect to see
any Texans, unless, by chance, Fannin came marching that way, but a
detachment of Mexican lancers might stumble upon him at any moment. The
thought, however, caused him no alarm. He felt so much weakness and
depression that the possibility of capture or death could not add to it.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391