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Velo thought a moment. "I had it in my hand just now," he said. "Look on the ground." The papers lay beside Velo's hand. Zaidos picked them up, and put them in his pocket. "I have them," he said gruffly. "I'm glad of that," said Velo. "Zaidos, I sold my soul for those papers. I have been a bad boy all my life, not because I had bad surroundings, not because I was neglected.
Once more the evil in Velo's soul was crying to him, shouting to him, "This is your day this is your day!" "I won't forget," commented Velo aloud; and Zaidos said "What?" They buckled on their aid kits, seeing that they were supplied with everything. They wore orderly kits now.
It throbbed and he turned and twisted in an effort to find a comfortable position. Velo's head ached splittingly, and he lay staring into the darkness, keeping company ever with the evil thoughts in his heart. He slept finally, however, and did not awake until Zaidos shook him by the shoulder and told him it was time for breakfast.
But don't think for a minute that I mean to stay where I am. A Zaidos cannot be kept in the hold. I shall do something for the honor of my name, you may be assured of that. But remember I am Zaidos, the stoker. As I said, if I find that silly tongue of yours wagging, I will make you good and sorry." He paused, and with keen eyes searched Velo's face to make sure he comprehended it all.
But now, hour by hour, Zaidos was conscious of a sort of sour look of hatred which seemed to grow plainer and plainer in Velo's sharp face. Zaidos had an uncomfortable feeling that he must keep a watchful eye on Velo. It was nothing but an instinct, but even so, he felt it, and feeling it, was ashamed. So the time wore on.
What possible hope could a fellow like himself have of keeping on the right side of anyone like Zaidos? He smiled when he thought what Zaidos would say if he could know or guess what Velo's life had been. What would he do if he ever found out how he had treated Zaidos' long suffering father? And Velo did not try to deceive himself.
Unable to speak from the intense pain she was enduring, the woman only moaned in reply, as Barry and Velo washed her foot with fresh water, and cleansed the cut carefully making sure by probing it with a pocket knife that no piece of foli shell or stone was left in the wound. Satisfied that all was right, Barry bound up the foot again with Velo's cotton shirt, which he tore into strips.
Zaidos looked up at the face, white with cowardice. "Come here!" said Zaidos. Still kneeling he pointed a small but business looking revolver at his cousin's heart. "Come here!" he ordered. Velo obeyed, the look on his face changing from white terror to black hate. Zaidos saw the look, and read it with unconcern. "Come here, Velo!" He held Velo's shifty eyes. "You get to work here.
So the whispering in Velo's mind went on, and he listened and listened, and presently he sat up. On his face was written what is written on every man's face when he gives the keys of his soul over to Evil. Zaidos came climbing out. "Well, the doctor is going to save your friend Smith," he said cheerfully. "Good work, too! One of the nicest fellows I ever knew, that Smith.
He fastened it so high that Velo's head was supported well out of the water; and Zaidos let himself down in the water with a gasp of relief. He felt that he was good for hours now. Keeping a hand on the strap of the belt, he turned on his back and floated. The water was warm, there was a hot sun shining, and with the Red Cross ship approaching, Zaidos felt that he was indeed lucky.
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