the pain of suffering and hopeless longing, he himself had the additional misery of having to resist temptation, for at any moment he could have obtained temporary relief by gratifying his desires at the expense of his companions.

Overpowered with heat, and burnt up with thirst, those without water to moisten their parched lips and throats could scarcely keep pace with the guide. By degrees they threw away their possessions—their blankets, their clothes,—until the plain behind was strewn with them.

“Don’t go so fast,” groaned one.

“Won’t ye halt a while?” said another uttering a curse—then, suddenly changing his tone, he implored them to halt.

“We cannot halt. It is death to halt,” said the guide, in a tone so resolute and callous that those who were enfeebled lost heart altogether, and began to lag behind.

At that time the man Bradling, who had become nearly mad with drinking brandy, ran in succession to each of those who had water, and offered all that he possessed of the former for one mouthful of the latter. His flushed face, glassy eyes, and haggard air, told how terrible was his extremity; but although some might have felt a touch of commiseration not one was moved to relieve him. The law of self-preservation had turned the hearts of all to stone. Yet not quite to stone, for there were one or two among them who, although nothing would induce them to give a single drop to a comrade, were content to do with less in order that they might relieve a friend!

One man in his desperation attempted to lick the bodies of the mules, hoping to obtain relief from the exudations of their skins, but the dust on them rendered this unavailing.

Suddenly Bradling darted at the water-skin hanging by the side of the guide’s mule, and swore he would have it or die.

“You’ll die, then,” observed the guide quietly, cocking a pistol and presenting it at his head.

Bradling hesitated and looked at the man. There was a cold stony stare, without the least excitement, in his look, which convinced him that his attempt, if continued, would end in certain death. He fell back at once with a deep groan.

Onward they pressed, hour after hour, until, in many of them, exhausted nature began to give way. They became slightly delirious, and, finding that they could not keep up with the party, a few determined, if left behind, to keep together. Among the number was Bradling, and terrible were the imprecations which he hurled after the more fortunate as they parted. It seemed cruel; but to remain with them would have done no good, while it would have sacrificed more lives. Bradling seemed to regard Frank as his chief enemy, for he shouted his name as he was moving off, praying God to send down the bitterest curses on his head.

A sudden impulse moved the heart of Frank. He turned back, poured about half a wine-glassful of water into a tin can and gave it to the unfortunate man, who seized and drained it greedily, licking the rim of the can and gazing into it, to see that not a drop had escaped him, with an eagerness of manner that was very painful to behold.

“God bless you,” he said to Frank with a deep sigh.

“Do you think,” said Frank earnestly, “that God will curse and bless at your bidding?”

“I don’t know, and don’t care,” replied the man, “but I say God bless you. Go away and be content with that.”

Frank had already lost too much time. He turned and hastened after the others as fast as possible.

“They won’t last long,” said the guide harshly, as he came up. “The wolves or the redskins will soon finish them. You were a fool to waste your water on them.”

“You are a fool to give your opinion to one who neither asks nor cares for it,” retorted Frank.

The man took no notice of the reply, and Frank afterwards felt somewhat ashamed of being so hasty, for at night, when they encamped, the guide advised him, in a friendly way, to keep a sharp look-out on the water, as those who had finished theirs during the day would be not unlikely to make an attack on those who had any left. Frank thanked him; but being too much fatigued to mount guard, he and Graddy, with his Yankee friend Jeffson, slept together, rolled in their blankets, with pistols in their hands and the water-bottles attached to them. Nothing disturbed them, however, during the night, save the howling of wolves, and the imploring cries, irritated exclamations, and angry discontent of the suffering men, which latter sounds were far more terrible than the cries of wild beasts.

A little before day-break some who could not rest sprang up and continued their journey, walking at their utmost speed until they sighted the woodland. Then, indeed, did a new sensation of delight fill their souls as they gazed upon the green verdure. Even the mules, though their eyes were bandaged, seemed to know that water was near. They snuffed the breeze, pricked up their ears, and neighed loudly. On reaching the woods, and sighting the river, a momentary halt was called to cast off the burdens of the mules. This was speedily done, and then they all rushed—men and mules together—deep into the stream and luxuriated in the cool water!

When they had slaked their thirst to the uttermost, Graddy proposed that a party should be sent back to the relief of those left behind, and offered to join it. Frank seconded this proposal, and the Yankee, Jeffson, volunteered to join it. A German named Meyer, who had borne his sufferings with great fortitude, also volunteered, as did a Scotchman named Douglas.

“You may propose what you please,” said the guide, when he heard them talking, “but I will not wait for you.”

“Why not?” inquired Frank somewhat angrily. “Because I was not hired for such work. It is my business to push on to the mines, and push on I will, follow who pleases.”

“Bot fat if ve compel you for to stay?” asked the German with an indignant air.

“Then you will guide yourselves as you best may, I will refuse to go a step further. Is it fair that I should be hired for a special job and then be asked to turn aside and risk my life for the sake of men who have chosen to throw their own lives away, and who are no doubt dead by this time?”

A number of the travellers applauded this sentiment, and it was evident that the philanthropists were very much in the minority, but here Frank stepped in and turned the scale, at least to some extent.

“Men,” said he, raising his clenched fist, “I know not what your notions of humanity may be, or your ideas of justice, but this I know, that the man who has the power to help a fellow-mortal in deadly distress and holds back his hand, is worse than a beast, for he has reason to guide him, and a beast has not. I and my comrade Joe Graddy, at least, will remain behind, even though we should be left alone, but I am convinced that we shall not be left alone. Meanwhile,” he added, addressing the guide, “I shall pay you my share of what is due, after which you may go, and I shall wish you no worse luck than that your conscience may go with you and be a lively companion.”

“There is more to be said than that,” observed the Yankee at this point. “You are so very fond of fulfilling your duty, mister guide, that I have concluded to relieve you of some of it. One of these mules is loaded entirely with my goods. Now, I guess, I’ll remain behind with Mister Allfrey, and keep the mule at a reasonable valuation.”

“I’ll not part with him at any price,” said the guide with a sneer. “I’ll carry your goods to the diggings or I’ll unstrap them, stranger, and let you carry them the best way you can, but I’m not bound to sell my mules to you.”

“Now, men,” cried the Yankee, springing forward and addressing his comrades, “I appeal to you all in the name of fair-play! Here am I, willin’ to pay this man a fair price for his mule. There’s not a pick or shovel belongin’ to any one else on