At first the significance of it did not come to him; then he straightened himself with a jerk that tightened the thong about his neck until it choked him.
Hours must have passed since the lantern had been placed on that rock, else the oil would not be burned out of it now! For the first time Howland realized that it was becoming more and more difficult for him to get breath.

The thing about his neck was tightening, slowly, inexorably, like a hot band of steel, and suddenly, because of this tightening, he found that he had recovered his voice.
"This damned rawhide--is pinching--my Adam's apple--" Whatever had been about his mouth had slipped down and his words sounded hollow and choking in the rock-bound chamber.

He tried to raise his voice in a shout, though he knew how futile his loudest shrieks would be.

The effort choked him more.

His suffering was becoming excruciating.
Sharp pains darted like red-hot needles through his limbs, his back tortured him, and his head ached as though a knife had cleft the base of his skull.