he could walk. He and Corporal Jerry Jackson and Alex Roy managed to keep the fires going. John Sparks and Tom Dougherty lay suffering until the sweat stood on their foreheads. Their feet seemed to be turning black, and were alive with sharp pains.
"Sure, we're like never to walk ag'in, Tom," John moaned. "Our country'll owe us each a pair o' feet."
"I know that, John. But what'll we do wid those we have? That's what's botherin' me. 'Tis cruel hard."
"'Tis harder on you than on me, lad," John declared. "For you're young. An' still, I'd like to do a bit more marchin', myself."
They heard never a sound from the hunters, all day. At dark the sergeant and Terry Miller came in, completely tuckered. They had not fired a shot; had seen no game, nor seen the lieutenant and the doctor, either.
"We'll have to pull our belts in another notch, boys," quoth the sergeant. "And trust to them other two. Had they found meat, they'd be in. If they don't come to-night, they'll come to-morrow. 'Tis tough for you, here by the fire; but it's tougher on them, out yonder somewheres in the cold, with their hearts aching at the thought of us waiting and depending on 'em. Jest the same, I'd rather be any
