He sank back to the floor and shut his ghost-ridden eyes. Bailey regarded him for a long, numb moment. “You couldn’t walk a mile and a half,” he muttered, “And, by God, I couldn’t carry you twenty feet, And, by God, if we could, there ain’t no way to get out, But all the same⁠—” “If there was any use tryin’,” He said, half-pleadingly, half-defiantly, “I tell you, Jack, if there was any use tryin’⁠—” He stopped. Ellyat’s eyes were shut. He rose with great care. “I’ll get you some water,” he muttered. “No, let you sleep.” He sat down again and stared at the sleeping face. “He looks bad,” he thought. “I guess I look bad myself. I guess the kid’s goin’ to die if we don’t get out. I guess we’re both goin’ to die. I don’t see why not.” He looked up at the flies on the ceiling and shook his fist. “Listen, you dirty Rebs,” he said, under his breath, “Flap your goddam wings⁠—we’re goin’ to get out of here!”