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. “Oh Lord!” He wondered if he was to be the tortured witness 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 smile that 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 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’wasn’t fer Tom Jamison.” 

 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. 

 Prev. P 50/111 next