9 Chapter 9

“For drinking water,” he said. “Holds about a quart.”

I took the thing from him, examining the extended end, and seeing how it was sealed, by folding over and clipping.

The Marine, meanwhile, was fishing through the other items. With a slight cry, he held up a small package.

“Hurricane matches!” he said, his voice exultant. “What do you think?”

“What? About a fire?” I considered. “I wish I had gathered fuel.”

My companion chuckled and pointed into the verdure.

“Check there!”

I did and found a pile of twigs and branches, and dried tufty stuff. All of it fairly dry.

So, we built a fire—and reveled in the triumph of the first invention of humanity, made to drive away the night fears.

* * * *

At this point, however, the Marine was showing signs of fatigue, and possibly mental confusion. By the light of the fire, I could see the tourniquet I had made for his head.

“Is there anything in the kit for cuts?” I asked.