“Hell—” The red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer. Chapter X. The tattered man stood musing. “Well, he was a 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.” 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 indicated 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.
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