umps. The man sank back where he lay.
The sight was so pitiful, so dreadful to see, that he forgot his own
misery and was all in tears for the little fellow who lay dying before
him. He forgot his own fearful condition at the sight, and again
attempted to rise and reach the little heap that lay moaning in the
corner. It was impossible; he could not rise.

And how fared Carrie all this time? Little better than the others. She
was no longer beautiful. And so she was left, along with a score or
more of other dying and desperate creatures, in another part of the
Reservation. She was not permitted to see the boy. Least of all was she
permitted to see, or even hear from, John Logan. Day by day she drooped
and sank slowly but surely down toward the grave.

But she did not fear death. She had faced it in all forms before. And
even now death walked the place night and day, and she was not afraid.
She lay down at night with death. She knew no fear at all. She
constantly asked for and wanted to see the helpless little boy, in the
hope that she might help or cheer him. But no one listened to anything
she had to say. Once, after a very hot and horrible day, two of her
companions in captivity were found to be dead. The guard who paced up
and down between the huts was told of it. But he said it was too late to
have them carted away that night. And so this girl lay there all night
by the side of the dead, and was not afraid. Nay, she even wished that
she too, when the cart came in the morning, might be found silent and at
peace. And then she thought of those whom she loved, and reproached
herself for being so selfish as to want to die when she still might be
of use to them.

Let us escape from these dreadful scenes as soon as possible. They are
like a nightmare to me.

And yet the mind turns back constantly to John Logan lying there; the
little heap of bones in the corner; the pure white moonlight creeping
softly down the wall, as if to look into the little fellow's eyes, yet
as if half afraid of wakening him.

Could Logan escape? Chains, double guards, death--all these at his door
holding him back, waiting to take him if he ever passed out at that
door. Mould on the floor, mould on the walls, mould on the very
blankets. The man was burning to death with the fever; the boy, too,
lying over there. The boy moaned now and then. Once Logan heard him cry
for water. That warm, slimy, wormy water! O, for one, just one draught
of cool, s