The men rise quickly in fright, and for a while at least, they forget about their all-consuming thirst that has weakened them but also brought an angry longing over them. Thirst can dominate a man and make him scratch with his fingers on the cold, hard floor.
“What is it, Jorgensen?” Catroux asks loudly. “What is going on out there?”
They stand panting and awaiting his answer from outside, where Jorgensen is standing guard.
“Jorgensen?” Catroux’s voice is loud and authoritative. “Where are you, Jorgensen?” No answer.
“Rifles!” orders Catroux, and in the dark, the men hunt for their rifles, pick them up and load it. Catroux walks up to the hut’s door with his revolver in his hand.
“Jorgensen!” he shouts through the darkness, and then he quickly moves away from the door, just in case s
