Chapter 10

The tattered man stood musing.

The ragged man stood thinking.

“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.”

“Well, he was really brave, wasn’t he?” he said at last, his voice quiet and awestruck. “Really brave.” He thoughtfully poked one of the limp hands with his foot. “I wonder where he got his strength. I’ve never seen a man do that before. It was a strange thing. Well, he was really brave.”

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 young man wanted to scream out his grief. He felt stabbed, but his tongue lay dead in the tomb of his mouth. He threw himself on the ground again and began to brood.

The tattered man stood musing.

The ragged man stood thinking.

“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.”

“Look here, partner,” he said after a while. He looked at the corpse as he spoke. “He’s gone, isn’t he? And we might as well start looking out for ourselves. This whole thing is over. He’s gone, isn’t he? And he’s all right here. Nobody will bother him. And I must say, I haven’t been in great health myself 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.

The tattered soldier’s tone brought the young man to his senses, and he looked up quickly. He saw the soldier swaying unsteadily on his feet, his face turning blue.

“Good Lord!” he cried, “you ain’t goin’ t’—not you, too.”

“Good Lord!” he cried, “you aren’t going to... 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 ragged man waved his hand. “I’m not going to die,” he said. “All I want is some pea soup and a good bed. Some pea soup,” he repeated dreamily.

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.

The youth got up from the ground. “I wonder where he came from. I left him over there.” He pointed. “And now I find him here. And he was coming from over there, too.” He pointed in a different direction. They both turned toward the body as if to ask 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.”

“Well,” the tattered man said at last, “there’s no use staying here and trying to ask him anything.”

The youth nodded an assent wearily. They both turned to gaze for a moment at the corpse.

The young man nodded wearily in agreement. They both turned and looked at the dead body for a moment.

The youth murmured something.

The young man murmured something.

“Well, he was a jim-dandy, wa’n’t ’e?” said the tattered man as if in response.

“Well, he was a great guy, wasn’t he?” 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.

They turned their backs on it and started away. For a while, they crept quietly on their toes. It stayed there in the grass, laughing.

“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.”

“I’m starting to feel pretty bad,” said the tattered man, suddenly breaking one of his short silences. “I’m starting to feel pretty damn bad.”

The youth groaned. “Oh Lord!” He wondered if he was to be the tortured witness of another grim encounter.

The young man groaned. “Oh Lord!” He wondered if he would have to watch another grim battle in anguish.

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.”

But his companion waved his hand reassuringly. “Oh, I’m not going to die yet! Too much depends on me for me to die yet. No, sir! Not going to die! I can’t! You should see the bunch of children I have, and all that.”

The youth glancing at his companion could see by the shadow of a smile that he was making some kind of fun.

The youth glanced at his companion. A faint smile told him that his companion was making some kind of joke.

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.

As they trudged along, the tattered soldier kept talking. “Besides, if I died, I wouldn’t die the way that fellow did. That was the strangest thing. I’d just flop down, I would. I’ve never seen a fellow die the way he 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.”

“You know Tom Jamison. He lives next door to me back home. He’s a nice fellow, and we’ve always been good friends. Smart, too. Smart as a steel trap. Well, we were fighting this afternoon when he suddenly started yelling and cursing at me. ‘You’re shot, you damned fool!’ he said. He swore terribly. I put my hand to my head, and when I looked at my fingers, sure enough, I was shot. I yelled and started to run. But before I could get away, another bullet hit my arm and spun me all the way around. I got scared when they were all shooting behind me, and I ran as fast as I could. But I was hit pretty badly. I think I’d still be fighting if it weren’t for 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.”

Then he said calmly, “There are two of them, little ones, but they’re starting to have fun with me now. I don’t think I can walk much farther.”

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 without 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 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?”

They walked slowly on in silence. “You look pretty pale yourself,” the tattered man said at last. “I bet your wound is worse than you think. You’d better take care of it. You can’t just let things like that go. The wound might be mostly inside, and those can cause real trouble. Where is it?” But he kept talking without waiting for an answer. “I saw a fellow get hit right in the head once, when my regiment was standing at ease. Everybody yelled to him: ‘Are you hurt, John? Are you badly hurt?’ ‘No,’ he said. He looked kind of surprised, and he went on telling them how he felt. He said he didn’t feel anything. But, by God, before that fellow knew it, he was dead. Yes, he was dead, stone dead. So you want to watch out. You might have some strange kind of wound yourself. You can never tell. Where is yours?”

The youth had been wriggling since the introduction of this topic. He now 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 tattered man, and could have strangled him. His companions seemed ever to play intolerable parts. They were ever upraising 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 repeated with desperate menace.

The young man had been squirming since the subject came up. Now he cried out in frustration and waved his hand furiously. “Oh, don’t bother me!” he said. He was so angry with the ragged man that he could have strangled him. His companions always seemed to play unbearable roles. Their curiosity kept raising the ghost of his shame on a stick. He turned toward the ragged man like someone cornered. “Now, don’t bother me,” he repeated with desperate menace.

“Well, Lord knows I don’t wanta bother anybody,” 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.”

“Well, Lord knows I don’t want to bother anybody,” said the other man. There was a hint of despair in his voice as he replied, “Lord knows I’ve got enough of my own to take care of.”

The youth, who had been holding a bitter debate with himself and casting glances of hatred and contempt at the tattered man, here spoke in a hard voice. “Good-by,” he said.

The young man had been arguing bitterly with himself and glaring at the ragged man with hatred and contempt. Now he spoke in a hard voice. “Goodbye,” 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 tattered man stared at him in open amazement. “Why, why, partner, where are you going?” he asked unsteadily. The youth looked at him and saw that he, too, like the other man, was starting to act blank and animal-like. His thoughts seemed to be floundering in his head. “Now, now, look here, you Tom Jamison, now, I won’t have this. This won’t do. Where, where are you going?”

The youth pointed vaguely. “Over there,” he replied.

The young man pointed vaguely. “Over there,” he said.

“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 Jamison. 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 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—it ain’t.”

“Well, now, look here,” said the tattered man, rambling on foolishly. His head hung forward, and his words were slurred. “This won’t do, Tom Jamison. It won’t do. I know you, you stubborn devil. You want to go marching off with a bad wound. It isn’t right, Tom Jamison, it isn’t. You should let me take care of you, Tom Jamison. It isn’t right for you to go marching off with a bad wound. It isn’t, isn’t, isn’t right. It isn’t.”

In reply the youth climbed a fence and started away. He could hear the tattered man bleating plaintively.

In response, the young man climbed over a fence and walked away. He could hear the ragged man bleating pitifully.

Once he faced about angrily. “What?”

Once he turned around angrily. “What?”

“Look—a—here, now, Tom Jamison—now—it ain’t—”

“Look, here, now, Tom Jamison, now, it isn’t...”

The youth went on. Turning at a distance he saw the tattered man wandering about helplessly in the field.

The young man went on. After some distance, he turned and saw the ragged man wandering helplessly in the field.

He now thought that he wished he was dead. He believed he envied those men whose bodies lay strewn over the grass of the fields and on the fallen leaves of the forest.

He now thought he wanted to die. He believed he envied the men whose bodies lay scattered across the fields and among the fallen leaves in 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 persistency 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, discovering, 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.

The tattered man’s simple questions had felt like knife thrusts to him. They revealed a society that probes secrets without mercy until everything is exposed. His recent companion’s unintentional persistence made him feel he could not keep his crime hidden in his heart. It was sure to be exposed by one of those arrows that fill the air. They constantly prick, uncover, and proclaim things meant to stay hidden forever. He admitted that he could not defend himself against them. No amount of vigilance could protect him.