The starving invalid looked at it wistfully, and stammered, with a voice full of tears, “I can’t eat when the rest of ye don’t.”

Sweeny, who had stared at the morsel with hungry eyes, now broke out, “I tell ye, ate it.  The liftinant wants ye to.”

“Divide it fair,” answered Glover, who could hardly restrain himself from sobbing.

“I won’t touch a bit av it,” declared Sweeny.  “It’s the liftinant’s own grub.”

“We won’t divide it,” said Thurstane.  “I’ll put it in your pocket, Glover.  When you can’t take another step without it, you must go at it.”

“Bedad, if ye don’t, we’ll lave yees,” added Sweeny, digging his fists into his empty stomach to relieve its gnawing.

Very slowly, the well men sustaining the sick one, they marched over rolling hills until about noon, accomplishing perhaps ten miles.  They were now on a slope looking southward; above them the wind sighed through a large grove of cedars; a little below was a copious spring of clear, sweet water.  There they halted, drinking and filling their canteens, but not eating.  The square inch of bear meat was still in Glover’s pocket, but he could not be got to taste it unless the others would share.

“Capm, I feel’s though Heaven’d strike me if I should eat your victuals,” he whispered, his voice having failed him.  “I feel a sort o’ superstitious ’bout it.  I want to die with a clear conscience.”

But when they rose his strength gave out entirely, and he dropped down fainting.

“Now ate yer mate,” said Sweeny, in a passion of pity and anxiety.  “Ate yer mate an’ stand up to yer marchin’.”

Glover, however, could not eat, for the fever of hunger had at last produced nausea, and he pushed away the unsavory morsel when it was put to his lips.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.  “No use all dyin’.  Go ahead.”  And then he fainted outright.

“I think the trail can’t be more than fifteen miles off,” said Thurstane, when he had found that his comrade still breathed.  “One of us must push on to it and the other stay with Glover.  Sweeny, I can track the country best.  You must stay.”

For the first time in this long and suffering and perilous journey Sweeny’s courage failed him, and he looked as if he would like to shirk his duty.

“My lad, it is necessary,” continued the officer.  “We can’t leave this man so.  You have your gun.  You can try to hunt.  When he comes to, you must get him along, following the course you see me take.  If I find help, I’ll save you.  If not, I’ll come back and die with you.”

Sitting down by the side of the insensible Glover, Sweeny covered his face with two grimy hands which trembled a little.  It was not till his officer had got some thirty feet away that he raised his head and looked after him.  Then he called, in his usual quick, sharp, chattering way, “Liftinant, is this soldierin’?”

“Yes, my lad,” replied Thurstane with a sad, weary smile, thinking meantime of hardships past, “this is soldiering.”