Carson, who in his long service had witnessed much of death and suffering, bent tenderly above him, seeking for some faint evidence of lingering life.

His fingers felt for no wound, for to his experienced eyes the sad tale was already sufficiently clear--hunger, exposure, the horrible heart-breaking strain of hopeless endeavor, had caused this ending, this unspeakable tragedy of the barren waterless plain.

He had witnessed it all before, and hoped now for little.

The anxious lieutenant, bareheaded under the hot sun-glare, strode hastily across from beside the unconscious but breathing girl, and stood gazing doubtfully down upon them.
"Any life, sergeant ?" he demanded, his voice rendered husky by sympathy.
"He doesn't seem entirely gone, sir," and Carson glanced up into the officer's face, his own eyes filled with feeling.

"I can distinguish just a wee bit of breathing, but it's so weak the pulse hardly stirs." "What do you make of it ?" "Starving at the bottom, sir.