I'll tell you a story: you may apply it as you like.
When I was on the Texan expedition, and raw to soldiering and camping, we had to sleep in low ground, and suffered terribly from a miasma.
Deadly cold, it was, when it came; and the man who once got chilled through with it, just died.

I was lying on the bare ground one night, and chilly enough I was--for I was short of clothes, and had lost my buffalo robe--but fell asleep: and on waking the next morning, I found myself covered up in my comrade's blankets, even to his coat, while he was sitting shivering in his shirt sleeves.

The cold fog had come down in the night, and the man had stripped himself, and sat all night with death staring him in the face, to save my life.

And all the reason he gave was, that if one of us must die, it was better the older should go first, and not a youngster like me.

And," said Tom, lowering his voice, "that man was a murderer!" "A murderer!" "Yes; a drunken, gambling, cut-throat rowdy as ever grew ripe for the gallows.