You boys do not know what hunger is.

It HURTS.

And all the rest of that night I lay awake chewing on the rawhide of a pack-saddle that hung near me.
Next morning the young Mexican and his sister came to us early, bringing more calabash stew.

I fell on it like a wild animal, and just wallowed in it, so eager was I to eat.

They stood and watched me--and I suppose Schwartz, too, though I had now lost interest in anyone but myself--glancing at each other in pity from time to time.
When I had finished the man told me that they had decided to kill a beef so we could have meat.