"God rescue me!" he cried, lifting his white face to the Heaven he had
so offended.
"If I pass another night here I shall go mad--mad!"
He was famished with hunger, numb with cold, and his mouth and throat
were dry with unconquerable thirst.
In those hours of suffering he thought of Lester Armstrong, and of the
awful fate he had doomed him to. He realized by his own experience of a
few hours what he must have endured, and a bitter groan of remorse broke
from his clammy lips.
"This is Heaven's punishment," he cried. "Oh, Lester Armstrong. God has
surely avenged you! If I could but atone; if it were to be done over
again, I would have no hand in the atrocious crime that has dyed my
hands just as surely as though I had plunged a knife into your heart!"
In his haste on leaving the cabin he had not taken time to secure his
revolver; he had no weapon; he was doomed to meet the same fate that he
had meted out to Lester Armstrong--starve to death slowly, hour by
hour--knowing that when he was too weak to hold longer to the branch he
would fall.
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