It was another day of dazzling brightness and intense heat. Certainly
this was a vertical sun. It shot rays like burning arrows straight down.
The blood in his veins seemed to dry up again. His head grew hotter.
Black specks in myriads danced before his eyes. He looked longingly at
his palm. When he first saw it, it stood up, vital and strong. Now it
seemed to droop and waver like himself. But it would have enough life to
fill its veins and arteries through the day and at night he would have
another good drink.

He scarcely stirred throughout the day but spent most of the time
looking at the palm. He paid no attention to the sounds below, sure that
the Mexicans would not go away. He fell at times into a sort of fevered
stupor, and he aroused himself from the last one to find that night had
come. He took his machete, went to the tree, and cut quickly, because
his thirst was very great.

The gash opened, but not a drop came forth.




CHAPTER V

IN THE PYRAMID


Ned stared, half in amazement, half in despair. Yet he had known all the
while that this would happen. The palm had emptied every drop from its
veins and arteries for him, giving life for life. He had cut so deeply