The stamp of indulgence was very plain upon him, and the younger man, who had led a simple, strenuous life, was sensible of a certain repulsion from him.
He realized also that were he alone it was just possible that, before his strength failed him altogether, he might reach the spot where they had cached their provisions, and for several minutes he grappled with the question whether he should make the attempt.

Then he brushed aside the arguments that seemed to warrant it, and admitted that in all probability Grenfell would have succumbed before he could get back again.

After all, this outcast who had led him into the wilderness on a fruitless search was his comrade, and they had agreed to share and share alike.

That Grenfell had at the most only a few years of indulgence still in front of him did not affect the question.

The specious reasons which seemed to prove that he would be warranted in deserting his comrade would not fit in with his simple code, which, avoiding all side issues, laid down very simply the things one could not do.
Rising stiffly, he laid the flour-bag, which he had not shaken absolutely empty, by Grenfell's side; and, taking from his pocket an indelible pencil that he happened to have with him, he moistened the point of it and scrawled a message across a piece of the almost-empty package in which they had carried their tea.
"Gone to look for a deer," it read, and he laid a stone on it where Grenfell could not fail to see it.
Then he took up the repeating rifle, and lurching down-hill plunged into the forest.