With a little cry of alarm, Markett bent over the form of a child and
felt its pulse and skin. "Still alive," she said anxiously. "How do you
combat this?"

"A kind of berry," replied Isral. "But there were none growing this
year when we left. They were small and bitter."

"I know the general type," said Markett. "The bark does just as well,
if you soak it in water. Have you any of the wood about?"

"Here," replied the Heber, pointing to a bush outside the gate. "This
is the kind that grows the berries. And there are others in the
forest." He turned to the bearers. "You!" he barked. "Go pull up every
fever-bush you can find and bring it here. You, Samel, draw clean water
from the Old Well and fill some tubs. Wash them first. You three, dig a
trench. Some of our people are past any service save that."

"That settles it," broke in Stevens grimly. "You can't live here any
longer."

"Why not, friend?" asked Isral, his eyes on the men who were carrying
out his orders.

"This sort of thing might strike you any moment. To save those who are
still here, we have to kill every fever-bush by uprooting and stripping
the bark. How many people live here?"

"There are about two thousand in this suburb. Of these, one thousand
may already have died; others have fled to our other cities and towns.
In them, if the plague has not been spread; and we have means of
keeping it down if there is time for warning; we have seventy thousands
in all."

"Seventy thousand," Stevens whispered to himself. Then, with a great
roar, he cried: "We'll do it!"

"What?"

"Go South--all of us, men, women and children. We can do it
easily--take the city from which I fled and live there, peacefully and

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