Without movement he lay on his back， and he could hear，slowly drawing near and nearer， the wheezing intake andoutput of the sick wolf’s breath. It drew closer， ever closer，through an infinitude of time， and he did not move. It was athis ear. The harsh dry tongue grated like sandpaper againsthis cheek. His hands shot out—or at least he willed them toshoot out. The fingers were curved like talons， but they closedon empty air. Swiftness and certitude require strength， and theman had not this strength.
The patience of the wolf was terrible. The man’s patiencewas no less terrible. For half a day he lay motionless， fightingoff unconsciousness and waiting for the thing that was to feedupon him and upon which he wished to feed. Sometimes thelanguid sea rose over him and he dreamed long dreams； butever through it all， waking and dreaming， he waited for thewheezing breath and the harsh caress of the tongue.
He did not hear the breath， and he slipped slowly from somedream to the feel of the tongue along his hand. He waited.
The fangs pressed softly； the pressure increased； the wolfwas exerting its last strength in an effort to sink teeth in thefood for which it had waited so long. But the man had waitedlong， and the lacerated hand closed on the jaw. Slowly， whilethe wolf struggled feebly and the hand clutched feebly， theother hand crept across to a grip. Five minutes later the wholeweight of the man’s body was on top of the wolf. The handshad not sufficient strength to choke the wolf， but the face ofthe man was pressed close to the throat of the wolf and themouth of the man was full of hair. At the end of half an hourthe man was aware of a warm trickle in his throat. It was notpleasant. It was like molten lead being forced into his stomach，and it was forced by his will alone. Later the man rolled overon his back and slept.
* * * * *
There were some members of a scientific expedition on thewhale-ship Bedford. From the deck they remarked a strangeobject on the shore. It was moving down the beach toward thewater. They were unable to classify it， and， being scientificmen， they climbed into the whale-boat alongside and wentashore to see. And they saw something that was alive butwhich could hardly be called a man. It was blind， unconscious.
It squirmed along the ground like some monstrous worm.
Most of its efforts were ineffectual， but it was persistent， and itwrithed and twisted and went ahead perhaps a score of feet anhour.
Three weeks afterward the man lay in a bunk on the whaleshipBedford， and with tears streaming down his wasted cheekstold who he was and what he had undergone. He also babbledincoherently of his mother， of sunny Southern California， anda home among the orange groves and flowers.
The days were not many after that when he sat at table withthe scientific men and ship’s officers. He gloated over thespectacle of so much food， watching it anxiously as it wentinto the mouths of others. With the disappearance of eachmouthful an expression of deep regret came into his eyes. Hewas quite sane， yet he hated those men at mealtime. He washaunted by a fear that the food would not last. He inquiredof the cook， the cabin-boy， the captain， concerning the foodstores. They reassured him countless times； but he could notbelieve them， and pried cunningly about the lazarette to seewith his own eyes.
It was noticed that the man was getting fat. He grew stouterwith each day. The scientific men shook their heads andtheorized. They limited the man at his meals， but still his girthincreased and he swelled prodigiously under his shirt.
The sailors grinned. They knew. And when the scientific menset a watch on the man， they knew too. They saw him slouchfor’ard after breakfast， and， like a mendicant， with outstretchedpalm， accost a sailor. The sailor grinned and passed him afragment of sea biscuit. He clutched it avariciously， looked atit as a miser looks at gold， and thrust it into his shirt bosom.
Similar were the donations from other grinning sailors.
The scientific men were discreet. They let him alone. Butthey privily examined his bunk. It was lined with hardtack；the mattress was stuffed with hardtack； every nook and crannywas filled with hardtack. Yet he was sane. He was takingprecautions against another possible famine—that was all. Hewould recover from it， the scientific men said； and he did， erethe Bedford’s anchor rumbled down in San Francisco Bay.