Their tenderness and affection were remarkable to witness.

They began to go the way that so many were going; diarrhea and scurvy set in; they wasted away till their muscles and tissues almost disappeared, leaving the skin lying fiat upon the bones; but their principal solicitude was for each other, and each seemed actually jealous of any person else doing anything for the other.

I met Emerson one day, with one leg drawn clear out of shape, and rendered almost useless by the scurvy.

He was very weak, but was hobbling down towards the Creek with a bucket made from a boot leg.
I said: "Johnny, just give me your bucket.

I'll fill it for you, and bring it up to your tent." "No; much obliged, M -- --" he wheezed out; "my pardner wants a cool drink, and I guess I'd better get it for him." Stiggall died in June.