They sank to their haunches, their chests heaving, their lungs gulping in great mouthfuls of air.
From a great distance, they could hear the baying of a hound.
Reeves slapped at the insects around his head.
"They're gaining on us," he mumbled through swollen lips.
Max looked at his companion.
Reeves's face was swollen and distorted from insect bites, his clothing torn.
Reeves stared back at him balefully. "How do you know we ain't been goin' in circles? Three days now and we ain't seen nothing."
"That's how I know.
If we was goin' in circles, we woulda run into them sure."
"I can't keep this up much longer," Reeves said. "I'm goin' crazy from bug bites. I'm ready to let 'em take me."
"Maybe you are," Max said, "but I ain't. I ain't got this far to go back an' sit in a cage." He got to his feet. "Come on. We rested enough."
Reeves looked over at him.
"How come them bugs don't bother you?" he asked resentfully. "It mus' be your Injun blood or somethin'."
"Might be," Max said. "Also might be that I don't scratch at 'em.
Come on."
"Can't we stay here for the night?" Reeves complained.
"Uh-uh," Max said. "We got another two hours of daylight. That's another mile.
Let's go."
He pushed off into the water.
He didn't look back, but a moment later, he heard Reeves splash into the water behind him.
It was almost dark when he found another hummock.
Reeves sprawled flat on the ground. Max looked down at him.
For a moment, he felt almost sorry for him, then he remembered the fierce hatreds that flamed in Reeves and he wasn't sorry any more.
He'd known what he was doing.
Max took out his knife and hacked swiftly at one of the long canes.
He sharpened the end to a pointed spear. Then he sloshed out into the water.
He stood there motionlessly for almost fifteen minutes, until he saw an indistinct shape swimming under the surface.
He held his breath, waiting for it to come closer.
It did and he moved swiftly. The spear flashed into the water.
He felt the pull against his arms as he lifted the spear free of the water.
A large, squirming catfish was impaled on the tip.
"We got a good one this time," he said, returning to Reeves.
He squatted down beside him and began to skin the fish.
Reeves sat up. "Start a fire," he said. "We'll cook this one."
Max was already chewing on a piece.
He shook his head.
"The smell of a fire carries for miles."
Reeves got to his feet angrily. "I don't give a damn," he snarled, his face flushing. "I ain't no damn Injun like you. I'm cookin' my fish."
He scrambled around, gathering twigs.
At last, he had enough to start a small fixe. His hand groped in his pocket for matches. He found one and scraped it on a log.
It didn't light.
Angrily he scraped it again. He stared at the match.
"They're still wet," he said.
"Yeah," Max answered, still chewing stolidly on the fish. It was rubbery and oily but he chewed it slowly, swallowing only a little at a time.
"You c'n start a fire," Reeves snapped.
Max looked up at him.
"How?"
"Injun style," Reeves said, "rubbin’ two sticks together."
Max laughed. "It won't work. The wood's too damp." He picked up a piece of the fish and held it up toward Reeves. "Here, eat it. It ain't so bad if you chew it slow."
Reeves took the fish and squatted down beside Max, then began to chew on it.