ears for a sound--thinking that some one might pass, unnoticed through
the thick wall of the car.

By and by he became hungry and he ate the scanty meal he had in his
bundle. Then he became thirsty--and he had no water.

The realization of this made his heart thump. It was no joking matter
to be shut in, at one could not tell what lonely place, to suffer from
thirst. He sprang up and began to pound and kick upon the door in a
frenzy.

But he soon tired of that and crouched on the floor again listening
and shivering, half with fear and half with cold. It was becoming
chillier, so he judged it must be night; up here in the mountains
there was still frost at night.

There came another train, a freight, he knew by the heavy pounding and
the time it took to pass. He kicked on the door and shouted, but he
soon realized that it was of no use to shout in that uproar.

The craving for water was becoming an obsession. He tried not to think
about it, but that only made him think about it the more; he would
think about not thinking about it and about not thinking about that--
and all the time he was growing thirstier. He wondered how long one
could live without water; and as the torment grew worse he began to
wonder if he was dying. He was hungry, too, and he wondered which was
worse, of which one would die the sooner. He had heard that dying men
remembered all their past, and so he began to remember his--with
extraordinary vividness, and with bursts of strange and entirely new
emotions. He remembered particularly all the evil things that he had