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It was an hour before dawn, and Tyson was kneeling on the floor of his

tent, doing so to the body of a sick man He had turned the narrow

place into a te his

little troop; and wherever there was a reasonable chance of saving a

, pitched in

the pitiless sunlight where the ht him into his own tent, where as often as not he

died This boy was dying The air was stifling; but it was better than

what they had down there a those close-packed rohere the poor

devils were dying faster than you could bury them--even in the desert,

where funeral rites are short And as he stooped to reat oath: there was no water in the tin basin;

the sponge was dry as sand, and caked with blood His own tongue was like

a hot file laid to the roof of his reat desert, stretched out like a sheet of slowly cooling iron;

and the heat by day was like the fire of the furnace that tried it

He went out to find water When they were not interrupted by the eneht be kept at this sort of work for days; if it was not this boy it

would be another The care of at least one-half of his sick and wounded

had fallen to Tyson's charge