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A Touch of the Sun
He stopped on the word and moved uneasily in the darkness.
"I'm talking rot," he said firmly. "Guess that's a symptom, too. Well, I believe I'll turn in."
He eyed his own tent, standing farthest off, white in the moonlight.
"Better take yourself in hand and get rid of these attacks," Deane advised him kindly. "The sun is not a thing to be treated lightly in these parts, you know."
As Holloway moved away, slowly, he watched him with narrowed eyes. Then he went into his own tent and lighted his lamp. With his leather trunk for desk, he wrote up his notes, and arranged his journal and books of entry; while outside the night deepened and all the camp slumbered.
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