All through the long delirium of pain and weariness Warren was conscious of the tender care of his nurse. To the sick man the wearing, jarring sound of voices rising out of a black pit was ever present and unbearable. At times they were to him the cries of the ruffians who pursued him to the stake; the vengeance of the mob seemed to fill the little room and charge the atmosphere with horror. Again it was the sound of the pistol shot that killed Parson Steward, and the patient would shudder at the blood everywhere--on shirts, hands and faces, and splashing the sides of the bare walls; or it was the flames mounting higher and higher, licking his body with hungry tongues, or it was the rushing of whirling waters against the vessel’s side as he swung Winona over the side of the “Crescent.” Finally, as he lay tossing and tormented with these phantom terrors in his eyes and ears, the sound died away into the soft hush of a tender voice stilling the tumult. The nurse was a young mulatto known as Allen Pinks. The boy had been cook and head-waiter on board a steamboat on the Missouri river. He had been paid off, according to his story, at St. Joseph. From there he had started for Leavenworth, walking down the Missouri bank of the river with a white man. At the ferry he was stopped on suspicion of being a fugitive slave and lodged in the calaboose; from there he was removed to the State prison until the time of sale. He had made himself very useful about the jail doing chores and nursing the sick, for which he seemed to have a particular vocation. Very soon Allen Pinks was a great favorite and allowed many privileges; hearing of Maxwell’s illness he asked to be allowed to nurse him, and the jailer was more than glad to have him do it. At last there came a day when the prisoner’s wild wide eyes were closed, and the boy rose from his long watch by the side of the rude cot bed with hope in his heart. He stood, for a second, looking down upon the calm face of the sleeper with a sorrowful smile on his dark brown face. “Fast asleep at last,” he whispered. “I must go see to his broth.” Just then a hideous yell arose from the room below. With a light bound the lad reached the stove-hole. “Hush your noise!” he called in a low tone of authority. “Haven’t I told you he must sleep?” “Got a black boss dis time,” came up from the hole in a gruff voice, followed by a low laugh. “He’s asleep now, and everything depends on his waking up right. But you set up a howl that would wake the dead!” “Howl? dat’s singing,” came again from the hole in the floor. “Well, keep your singing to yourself.” The noise subsided, and the young nurse turned again to his patient.