At last his wife called to him that the meal was ready. He went over to
the fire and began to eat, while the woman took some of the broth, which
she had made out of the meat, put it into a small earthen pot, and
carried it to her grandmother, in the hope that she might be able to
force a little of it down her throat. It was of no use: the dying woman
was insensible to all help from food, and lay as in a stupor, from which
it was impossible to rouse her. Mota returned sadly to the fire where
her husband was eating as only a hungry man can eat.
They finished their meal in silence, and after the wife had put away the
remains of the food, she came over to where her husband was sitting in
the opening of the hut, and crouched by his side. There, in the
gathering gloom of the night, he told of the experiences of his search
for food.
"It was a long, long distance I went, Mota," he began. "I journeyed on
and on to the far south, until I reached a river that flows across the
plains toward the sea. It was nearing evening of the second day after I
came to the river, when suddenly I heard a queer sound as of the steps
of a small army of some kind of hard-footed animals.
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