“Go on; leave me here.  I am of no use at best.  I should only be a drag on you.  Perhaps you may find some darkey and send him back to give me a mouthful to eat.  That would pick me up; nothing else can.”

The four gathered together for counsel.  The horses, faring better than their masters, for they found abundance to allay hunger in the lush, dank grass of the morass, were corralled in a clump of white ash, and the jaded men, groping about, clambered upon the gnarled roots of the trees to catch breath.  They had been battling steadily for five hours against all the forces of Nature.  Their clothes were torn, their flesh abraded, their strength exhausted.  They could have slept, but the ground offered no place, for wherever the foot rested an instant the weight of the body pushed it down into the oozy soil until water gushed in over the shoe-tops.  Jones had found the struggle hardest because he had not the youth of the others nor their light frames.  The striplings were spared many of his hardships and were still able to endure the ordeal, if the end were sure relief.  Jack struck a match, and with this lighted a pine knot.  He surveyed the gloomy brake carefully, and at last, finding a mound where a thick growth of underbrush gave assurance of less treacherous soil, he called to Barney to aid him.  The little hillock was made into a couch by means of the saddles, and the groaning veteran carefully laid upon the by no means uncomfortable refuge.  As Jack held the light above him, Jones’s eyes closed and he sank into a lethargic sleep.

“He will be in a high fever when he awakes,” Jack said, looking at Barney.  “We must see that he has food, or the fever will be his death.  Here is what I propose:  you and I shall sally out from here, blazing the path as we go.  We must find some sign of life within a circuit of five miles.  That will take us say till daylight to go and come.  We will leave Dick here to guard Jones, and if we do not return by noon to-morrow Dick will know that he must shift for himself.”

“You command, Jack dear.  What you say I’ll do, as Molly Meginniss said to the priest when he told her to repent of her sins.”

“Dick, my boy, do you think you are equal to a vigil?  You must stay here with Jones.  If he wakes and wants water, press the moisture of these leaves to his lips, it’s sassafras; and, stay—­here is a sort of plantain, filled with little globules of dew; pour these into his mouth, and at a pinch give him a handful from the pool.  In case of great danger fire two shots, but if any one should come toward you or discover you it will be better to surrender.  In that event, you can make up a story to suit the case, which may enable you to finally escape.  This man’s life is in your hands.  Remember that it is as glorious a deed as fighting in line.  Keep up a stout heart.  We will soon be back, or you may take it for granted all is up with us.”

“Ah!  Jack!  Jack!  To start so well and end so miserably, I can’t bear it—­I can’t stay here.  You stay and let me go.”