THE tattered man stood musing.
"Well, he was reg'lar jim-dandy
fer nerve, wa'n't he," said he
finally in a little awestruck
voice. "A reg'lar jim-dandy." He
thoughtfully poked one of the
docile hands with his foot. "I
wonner where he got 'is stren'th
from? I never seen a man do like
that before. It was a funny thing.
Well, he was a reg'lar jim-dandy."
The youth desired to screech
out his grief. He was stabbed,
but his tongue lay dead in the
tomb of his mouth. He threw himself
again upon the ground and began
to brood.
The tattered man stood musing.
"Look-a-here, pardner," he
said, after a time. He regarded
the corpse as he spoke. "He 's
up an' gone, ain't 'e, an' we
might as well begin t' look out
fer ol' number one. This here
thing is all over. He 's up an'
gone, ain't 'e? An' he 's all
right here. Nobody won't bother
'im. An' I must say I ain't enjoying
any great health m'self these
days."
100
The youth, awakened by the
tattered soldier's tone, looked
quickly up. He saw that he was
swinging uncertainly on his legs
and that his face had turned
to a shade of blue.
"Good Lord!" he cried, "you
ain't goin' t'-- not you, too."
The tattered
man waved his hand. "Nary die," he said. "All
I want is some pea soup an' a
good bed. Some pea soup," he
repeated dreamfully.
The youth arose
from the ground. "I
wonder where he came from. I
left him over there." He pointed. "And
now I find 'im here. And he was
coming from over there, too." He
in- dicated a new direction.
They both turned toward the body
as if to ask of it a question.
"Well," at length spoke the
tattered man, "there ain't no
use in our stayin' here an' tryin'
t' ask him anything."
The youth nodded an assent
wearily. They both turned to
gaze for a moment at the corpse.
The youth murmured something.
"Well, he was a jim-dandy,
wa'n't 'e?" said the tattered
man as if in response.
They turned their backs upon
it and started away. For a time
they stole softly, treading with
their toes. It remained laughing
there in the grass.
"I'm commencin' t' feel pretty
bad," said the tattered man,
suddenly breaking one of his
little silences. "I'm commencin'
t' feel pretty damn' bad."
The youth groaned. "O Lord!" He
won- dered if he was to be the
tortured witness of another grim
encounter.
But his companion
waved his hand reassur- ingly. "Oh,
I'm not goin' t' die yit! There
too
much dependin' on me fer me t'
die yit. No, sir! Nary die! I
CAN'T! Ye'd oughta see th' swad
a' chil'ren I've got, an' all
like that."
The youth glancing at his companion
could see by the shadow of a
smile that he was making some
kind of fun.
As they plodded
on the tattered soldier con-
tinued to talk. "Besides,
if I died, I wouldn't die th'
way that feller did. That was
th' funniest thing. I'd jest
flop down, I would. I never seen
a feller die th' way that feller
did.
"Yeh know Tom
Jamison, he lives next door
t' me up home. He's
a nice feller, he is, an' we
was allus good friends. Smart,
too. Smart as a steel trap. Well,
when we was a-fightin' this atternoon,
all-of-a-sudden he begin t' rip
up an' cuss an' beller at me.
'Yer shot, yeh blamed infernal!'--he
swear horrible--he ses t' me.
I put up m' hand t' m' head an'
when I looked at m' fingers,
I seen, sure 'nough, I was shot.
I give a holler an' begin t'
run, but b'fore I could git away
another one hit me in th' arm
an' whirl' me clean 'round. I
got skeared when they was all
a-shootin' b'hind me an' I run
t' beat all, but I cotch it pretty
bad. I've an idee I'd a' been
fightin' yit, if t'was n't fer
Tom Jami- son."
Then he made
a calm announcement: "There's
two of 'em--little ones--but
they 're beginnin' t' have fun
with me now. I don't b'lieve
I kin walk much furder."
They went slowly
on in silence. "Yeh
look pretty peek-ed yerself," said
the tattered man at last. "I
bet yeh 've got a worser one
than yeh think. Ye'd better take
keer of yer hurt. It don't do
t' let sech things go. It might
be inside mostly, an' them plays
thunder. Where is it located?" But
he continued his harangue with-
out waiting for a reply. "I see
'a feller git hit plum in th'
head when my reg'ment was a-standin'
at ease onct. An' everybody yelled
out to 'im: Hurt, John? Are yeh
hurt much? 'No," ses he. He looked
kinder surprised, an' he went
on tellin' 'em how he felt. He
sed he didn't feel nothin'. But,
by dad, th' first thing that
feller knowed he was dead. Yes,
he was dead--stone dead. So,
yeh wanta watch out. Yeh might
have some queer kind 'a hurt
yerself. Yeh can't never tell.
Where is your'n located?"
The youth had
been wriggling since the intro-
duction of this
topic. He now gave a cry of ex-
asperation and made a furious
motion with his hand. "Oh, don't
bother me!" he said. He was enraged
against the tattered man, and
could have strangled him. His
companions seemed ever to play
intolerable parts. They were
ever uprais- ing the ghost of
shame on the stick of their curiosity.
He turned toward the tattered
man as one at bay. "Now, don't
bother me," he re- peated with
desperate menace.
"Well, Lord knows I don't wanta
bother any- body," said the other.
There was a little accent of
despair in his voice as he replied, "Lord
knows I 've gota 'nough m' own
t' tend to."
The youth,
who had been holding a bitter
de- bate with himself
and casting glances of hatred
and contempt at the tattered
man, here spoke in a hard voice. "Good-by," he
said.
The tattered
man looked at him in gaping
amazement. "Why--why,
pardner, where yeh goin'?" he
asked unsteadily. The youth looking
at him, could see that he, too,
like that other one, was beginning
to act dumb and animal-like.
His thoughts seemed to be floundering
about in his head. "Now--now--look--a--here,
you Tom Jamison--now--I won't
have this--this here won't do.
Where--where yeh goin'?"
The youth pointed
vaguely. "Over
there," he replied.
"Well, now look--a--here--now," said
the tattered man, rambling on
in idiot fashion. His head was
hanging forward and his words
were slurred. "This thing won't
do, now, Tom Jami- son. It won't
do. I know yeh, yeh pig-headed
devil. Yeh wanta go trompin'
off with a bad hurt. It ain't
right--now--Tom Jamison--it ain't.
Yeh wanta leave me take keer
of yeh, Tom Jami- son. It ain't--right--it
ain't--fer yeh t' go-- trompin'
off--with a bad hurt--it ain't--ain't--
ain't right--it ain't."
In reply the youth climbed
a fence and started away. He
could hear the tattered man bleating
plaintively.
Once he faced
about angrily. "What?"
"Look--a--here,
now, Tom Jamison--now-- it
ain't--"
The youth went on. Turning
at a distance he saw the tattered
man wandering about helplessly
in the field.
He now thought that he wished
he was dead. He believed that
he envied those men whose bodies
lay strewn over the grass of
the fields and on the fallen
leaves of the forest.
The simple questions of the
tattered man had been knife thrusts
to him. They asserted a society
that probes pitilessly at secrets
until all is apparent. His late
companion's chance persist- ency
made him feel that he could not
keep his crime concealed in his
bosom. It was sure to be brought
plain by one of those arrows
which cloud the air and are constantly
pricking, dis- covering, proclaiming
those things which are willed
to be forever hidden. He admitted
that he could not defend himself
against this agency. It was not
within the power of vigilance.
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