wring no cry from his lips, no murmur, no word of complaint. With
patient courage and heroic fortitude he strives to keep pace with his
companions, but finds it impossible. Early in the morning he drops to
the rear, and is soon lost to sight. At night he drags his weary limbs
into camp long after his comrades are sleeping 'neath the silent stars.
It must be remembered that they had been accustomed to short allowance
of food for months, while he had been used to having an abundance. Their
bodies had been schooled to endure famine, privations, and long, weary
walks. For many days before reaching the mountains, they had been used
to walking every day, in order to lighten the burdens of the perishing
oxen. Fatigues which exhausted them crushed Stanton. The weather was
clear and pleasant, but the glare of the sun during the day had been
like molten fire to their aching eyes.

On the morning of the fifth day Stanton was sitting smoking by the
smoldering fire when the company resumed its journey. Mary Graves, who
had a tender heart for the suffering of others, went kindly up to him,
and asked him if he were coming. "Yes," he replied, "I am coming soon."
Was he answering her, or the unseen spirits that even then were
beckoning him to the unknown world? "Yes, I am coming soon!" These were
his last words. His companions were too near death's door to return when
they found he came not, and so he perished. He had begged them piteously
to lead him, during the first days of his blindness, but seeming to
realize that they were unable to render assistance, he ceased to
importune, and heroically met his fate. He did not blame his comrades.
They were weak, exhausted, and ready to die of starvation. With food
nearly gone, strength failing, hope lost, and nothing left but the last,
blind, clinging instinct of life, it was impossible that the perishing
company should have aided the perishing Stanton. He was a hero of the
highest, noblest, grandest stamp. No words can ever express a fitting