A movement and its consequent grip of pain brought him back. He saw then that a heavy cloud, wind driven, had blotted out the moon. In a frenzy he came alert! He was wounded! He had dropped his gun and they were waiting for him out there, somewhere; waiting to finish him! He could feel the smearing of blood across his chest as his clothing held it in. His legs commenced to tremble, from true physical weakness this time. And the Captain was waiting! That thought wiped out every other; he was possessed with it. He might be dying, but if he could only get to the Captain; if he could only feel that silken nose against his cheek! Nothing would matter then. If he could get up, if he could mount, the Captain would take care of him. He could outrun those bullets--the Captain. He would take him home, away from this inferno. "I'm coming, Captain!" he muttered brokenly. "You're waiting! Oh, I know where to find you. I'm coming, boy, coming!" He stepped down from the doorway and reeled, a hand against his wounded breast. It seemed as though it required an eternity to regain his balance. Then he lurched forward a step. Oh, they were merciless! They opened on him from behind--when he had no weapon, when his life was gushing away under his shirt! Those shots never came from one gun alone. More than one man fired on him! His salvation then was flight. He ran, staggering, stumbling. He plunged forward on his face and heard a bullet scream over him. "Oh, Captain!" he moaned. "Can't you come and get me? Can't you?" He snarled his determination to rally those senses that tried to roam off into vagaries. He got to his hands and knees and crawled, inch by inch. He heard another shot, but it went wild. He got to his feet and reeled on. They thought they'd done for him when he fell! He heard himself laughing crazily at the joke. "Oh, you'll laugh, too--Captain!" he growled. "It's a joke--you'll--if I can only get to--you!" His numb, lagging legs seemed to make conscious efforts to hold him back. His head became as heavy as his feet and rolled about on his neck, now straight forward, now swinging from side to side. His arms flopped as no arm ever should flop. And he heard the blood bubbling under his vest. Perhaps he would never get there! Perhaps he was done for! "Oh, no--I can't quit before--I get to--you, Captain!" he muttered as he fell again. "You're waiting--where I told you to wait! I've got to--get--there!" Of only one thing in this borderland between consciousness and insensibility was he certain--the Captain was waiting. The Captain was waiting! If he could get that far-- It was the climax of all things. To reach his horse; to touch him; to put his arms about those ankles as he fell and hold them close; to answer trust with trust. For through all this the Captain had waited!