large/506/short_stories_009_64kb_mp3/love_of_life_london_jwt_64kb_51
large/506/short_stories_009_64kb_mp3/love_of_life_london_jwt_64kb
English
506
There were still sixty seven. He dried his wet foot gear by the fire. The moccasins were in soggy shreds. The blanket socks were worn through in places, and his feet were raw and bleeding. His ankle was throbbing, and he gave it an examination. THERE WERE STILL SIXTY SEVEN HE DRIED HIS WET FOOT GEAR BY THE FIRE THE MOCCASINS WERE IN SOGGY SHREDS THE BLANKET SOCKS WERE WORN THROUGH IN PLACES AND HIS FEET WERE RAW AND BLEEDING HIS ANKLE WAS THROBBING AND HE GAVE IT AN EXAMINATION
patiently with a hope greater than knowledge and defying experience. At nine o'clock he stubbed his toe on a rocky ledge, and from sheer weariness and weakness staggered and fell. He lay for some time, without movement, on his side. Then he slipped out of the pack-straps and clumsily dragged himself into a sitting posture. It was not yet dark, and in the lingering twilight he groped about among the rocks for shreds of dry moss. When he had gathered a heap he built a fire,--a smouldering, smudgy fire,--and put a tin pot of water on to boil. He unwrapped his pack and the first thing he did was to count his matches. There were sixty-seven. He counted them three times to make sure. He divided them into several portions, wrapping them in oil paper, disposing of one bunch in his empty tobacco pouch, of another bunch in the inside band of his battered hat, of a third bunch under his shirt on the chest. This accomplished, a panic came upon him, and he unwrapped them all and counted them again. BERRIES BUT HE CHEWED THEM PATIENTLY WITH A HOPE GREATER THAN KNOWLEDGE AND A FINE EXPERIENCE AT NINE O'CLOCK HE STUBBED HIS TOE ON A ROCKY LEDGE AND FROM SHEER WEARINESS AND WEAKNESS STAGGERED AND FELL HE LAY FOR SOME TIME WITHOUT MOVEMENT ON HIS SIDE THEN HE SLIPPED OUT OF THE PACK STRAPS AND CLUMSILY DRAGGED HIMSELF INTO A SITTING POSTURE IT WAS NOT YET DARK AND IN THE LINGERING TWILIGHT HE GROPED ABOUT AMONG THE ROCKS FOR SHREDS OF DRY MOSS WHEN HE HAD GATHERED A HEAP HE BUILT A FIRE A SMOULDERING SMUDGY FIRE AND PUT A TIN POT OF WATER ON TO BOIL HE UNWRAPPED HIS PACK AND THE FIRST THING HE DID WAS TO COUNT HIS MATCHES THERE WERE SIXTY SEVEN HE COUNTED THEM THREE TIMES TO MAKE SURE HE DIVIDED THEM INTO SEVERAL PORTIONS WRAPPING THEM IN OIL PAPER DISPOSING OF ONE BUNCH IN HIS EMPTY TOBACCO POUCH OF ANOTHER BUNCH IN THE INSIDE BAND OF HIS BATTERED HAT OF A THIRD BUNCH UNDER HIS SHIRT ON THE CHEST THIS ACCOMPLISHED A PANIC CAME UPON HIM AND HE UNWRAPPED THEM ALL AND COUNTED THEM AGAIN
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