CHAPTER X.
The tattered man stood musing.
"Well, he was reg'lar jim-dandy fer nerve, wa'n't he," said he finallyin a little awestruck voice. "A reg'lar jim-dandy." He thoughtfullypoked 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 afunny thing. Well, he was a reg'lar jim-dandy."
The youth desired to screech out his grief. He was stabbed, but histongue lay dead in the tomb of his mouth. He threw himself again uponthe ground and began to brood.
The tattered man stood musing.
"Look-a-here, pardner," he said, after a time. He regarded the corpseas he spoke. "He 's up an' gone, ain't 'e, an' we might as well begint' look out fer ol' number one. This here thing is all over. He 's upan' 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 thesedays."
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 facehad 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 issome 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 lefthim over there." He pointed. "And now I find 'im here. And he wascoming from over there, too." He indicated a new direction. They bothturned toward the body as if to ask of it a question.
"Well," at length spoke the tattered man, "there ain't no use in ourstayin' here an' tryin' t' ask him anything."
The youth nodded an assent wearily. They both turned to gaze for amoment at the corpse.
The youth murmured something.
"Well, he was a jim-dandy, wa'n't 'e?" said the tattered man as if inresponse.
They turned their backs upon it and started away. For a time theystole softly, treading with their toes. It remained laughing there inthe grass.
"I'm commencin' t' feel pretty bad," said the tattered man, suddenlybreaking one of his little silences. "I'm commencin' t' feel prettydamn' bad."
The youth groaned. "O Lord!" He wondered if he was to be the torturedwitness of another grim encounter.
But his companion waved his hand reassuringly. "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 smilethat he was making some kind of fun.
As they plodded on the tattered soldier continued 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 fellerdie th' way that feller did.
"Yeh know Tom Jamison, he lives next door t' me up home. He's a nicefeller, he is, an' we was allus good friends. Smart, too. Smart as asteel trap. Well, when we was a-fightin' this atternoon,all-of-a-sudden he begin t' rip up an' cuss an' beller at me. 'Yershot, yeh blamed infernal!'--he swear horrible--he ses t' me. I put upm' 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 Icould 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 runt' beat all, but I cotch it pretty bad. I've an idee I'd a' beenfightin' yit, if t'was n't fer Tom Jamison."
Then he made a calm announcement: "There's two of 'em--little ones--butthey 're beginnin' t' have fun with me now. I don't b'lieve I kin walkmuch 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 thanyeh think. Ye'd better take keer of yer hurt. It don't do t' let sechthings go. It might be inside mostly, an' them plays thunder. Whereis it located?" But he continued his harangue without waiting for areply. "I see 'a feller git hit plum in th' head when my reg'ment wasa-standin' at ease onct. An' everybody yelled out to 'im: Hurt, John?Are yeh hurt much? 'No,' ses he. He looked kinder surprised, an' hewent 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 wasdead--stone dead. So, yeh wanta watch out. Yeh might have some queerkind 'a hurt yerself. Yeh can't never tell. Where is your'n located?"
The youth had been wriggling since the introduction of this topic. Henow gave a cry of exasperation and made a furious motion with his hand."Oh, don't bother me!" he said. He was enraged against the tatteredman, and could have strangled him. His companions seemed ever to playintolerable parts. They were ever upraising the ghost of shame on thestick of their curiosity. He turned toward the tattered man as one atbay. "Now, don't bother me," he repeated with desperate menace.
"Well, Lord knows I don't wanta bother anybody," said the other. Therewas a little accent of despair in his voice as he replied, "Lord knowsI 've gota 'nough m' own t' tend to."
The youth, who had been holding a bitter debate with himself andcasting glances of hatred and contempt at the tattered man, here spokein 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 athim, could see that he, too, like that other one, was beginning to actdumb and animal-like. His thoughts seemed to be floundering about inhis head. "Now--now--look--a--here, you Tom Jamison--now--I won't havethis--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 inidiot fashion. His head was hanging forward and his words wereslurred. "This thing won't do, now, Tom Jamison. It won't do. I knowyeh, 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 takekeer of yeh, Tom Jamison. 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--itain't."
In reply the youth climbed a fence and started away. He could hear thetattered 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 manwandering about helplessly in the field.
He now thought that he wished he was dead. He believed that he enviedthose men whose bodies lay strewn over the grass of the fields and onthe 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 isapparent. His late companion's chance persistency made him feel thathe could not keep his crime concealed in his bosom. It was sure to bebrought plain by one of those arrows which cloud the air and areconstantly pricking, discovering, proclaiming those things which arewilled to be forever hidden. He admitted that he could not defendhimself against this agency. It was not within the power of vigilance.