Then dawn came, rosy and bright, and all but three rose from the earth.

The three-one woman and two children-had died in silence in the night, and they were buried, like the others, in shallow graves in the woods.

But there was little weeping or external mourning over them.

All were now heavy and apathetic, capable of but little more emotion.
Carpenter resumed his position at the head of the column, which now moved slowly over the mountain through a thick forest matted with vines and bushes and without a path.

The march was now so painful and difficult that they did not make more than two miles an hour.