AS GRASS OF THE FIELD
Just brace up. Dave would rather die a thousand times than hurt you. You see, I was blind and crazy with pain, and blood in my eyes, or I would have known you as you crawled over the horse. You know how that is, being a soldier, and a better and braver and honester one than I. When you have pain you can hardly stand, and blood from a saber cut in your eyes, you just fire at anything and everything—just for spite and hell in general. And we're all black as niggers with powder. Now wake up, Jonthy, dear. Dave's your prisoner, and he's glad of it. But you've got to take him in. Then he'll nurse you well of the wound he gave you. My God—to think of me shooting you! Jonthy, wake up and tell me you forgive me!"
Just then, as if Jon really heard, the eyes fell shut, and the nerveless head nestled closer to Dave, and bowed a little as if in assent. And, also, just then, Dave pressed his face down to Jon's and knew that he was dead—and, that he had killed him! I hope I shall never again see such a look on
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