worn-out yourself," Frank said.

"I suppose I do. I have not lain down for the past five days."

"Then," Frank said, "I insist on taking your place to-night. Is he
sensible?"

The young man shook his head.

"Sometimes, for a little while, I think he knows where he is, but most
of the time he lies perfectly still, or just talks to himself.

"Very well, then," Frank said, "he will not know the difference.
Besides, you can lie down in the tent, and I can wake you at once if
there is any occasion."

The man hesitated; but he was too worn-out to resist, and he made no
opposition as Frank entered the tent. An elderly man lay stretched upon
some blankets, one of which was thrown loosely over him. Frank stooped
and put his fingers on his wrist. He could scarcely feel the pulse.

"What have you been giving him?"

"I got a piece of fresh meat and boiled it down into broth."

"Have you given him any stimulants? I think he wants keeping up."

"He never touches them," the young man said.

"All the better," Frank replied; "they will have all the more effect
upon him as medicine. If you will wait here a few minutes, I will go up
to my tent and fetch down a blanket and a few things. I will be with you
in ten minutes."

Frank briefly announced to his comrades that he was going to sit up for
the night with a sick man. He put a bottle containing a glass or two of
brandy in his pocket, and went into a store and purchased some lemons
and a piece of fresh beef; this he took back to the camp fire, and asked
Abe to put it on and let it simmer all night in the ashes, in just
enough water to cover it, and then to strain it in the morning, and
bring the broth across to what was known in the camp as the "lonely
tent." He took a small phial of laudanum and quinine from the store of
medicines, to use if they might appear likely to be needed, and then
went back to the tent.

"Now," he said to the young man, "you lie down at once. If you are
wanted I will be sure and wake you. I shall make myself comfortable,
never fear; one of my mates will bring me down a pannikin of tea the
last thing."

He squeezed one of the lemons into a tin drinking-cup, and added water
and a few spoonfuls of brandy, and, with a spoon he had brought down
with him, poured some of it between the old man's lips.

"I don't know whether it's right," he thought to himself, "but it's the
best thing I can do for him. It is evident he must be kept up. When Abe
comes d