a jug of water,
and without answering Phil's remarks that the cell was not fitted for
officer or men, banged the door and locked it. Before he did so, Tony
caught sight of six Russian soldiers standing in the doorway.

"No chance of rushing that when the jailer comes in," he said shortly.
"Never mind, the chimney's good enough for me."

The bread was now divided up, and they fell to hungrily. Then, when his
wound had been dressed, Phil and his friends lay down. Fortunately for
the former, the bayonet had made a clean thrust through the muscles, and
though he suffered some pain, and was stiff, the wound was too slight to
incommode him greatly.

The following morning, just as dawn was breaking, Phil slipped off his
coat, climbed up the chimney, and slid down into the other cell, where
he found McNeil sleeping soundly. He was shocked at the poor fellow's
appearance. He was greatly emaciated and intensely pallid. Phil woke
him gently.

"Hush, keep quiet!" he said. "Here I am, come to have a chat with you."

McNeil sat up with difficulty.

"Ah, Western!" he cried, grasping Phil by both hands, while his lips
quivered, "yours is the first friendly grasp I have felt since I was
taken prisoner. So you are now a subaltern, and have been taken
prisoner for the second time? How did you escape? I sent a letter to
say how gallantly you and your friend fought by my side for the flag."

"Yes, and it reached the camp safely," said Phil, "and I was promoted to
sergeant, and my friend to corporal. But I will tell you all about it
later. Now let me know about this brute Stackanoff."

"Ah, he is a brute! See here, Western! He has refused me the help and
advice of a doctor, and my wound daily gets worse and cripples me."

Phil looked at it, and going to a basin in the corner of the cell,
filled it with water and returned.

"I'll set you right in a minute," he said. "I was for a little while in
the cholera hospital, and know a little about wounds too."

Some linen lay at hand, and with this he cleaned the wound and dressed
it carefully.

"Thank you, Western!" said McNeil gratefully. "You are my good
Samaritan. Now what about this escape? I can just limp along, and
shall be ready at any moment."

"The door is out of the question," Phil replied thoughtfully. "It is
too strong to break, and a guard accompanies the jailer. Then the
windows are too small and too high up, while the floor is impossible.
The only w