Chapter V The footsteps prove to be those of Thomas R. Hefflebomer of Washington Territory, who introduces positive proof of having murdered the judge during a fit of mental aberration, and Mabel marries a man named Tompkins, whom she met two years later at Hot Springs. Futility To be so near--and then to vanish Like some unreal creature of the sense; To come so near that every fiber, tingling, Makes ready welcome; then to surge Back into the recesses of the strange, Mysterious unknown. Ye gods! What agony to feel thee slowly steal Away from us when, with caught breath And streaming eyes, and parted lips, We fain would with convulsive gasp And tortured features bow our frame In one loud spasm of homage to thy spell! But with what grief we find we can not do it; The dream is o'er--we can not sneeze. The Wounded Veteran A party of Northern tourists passed through Houston the other day, and while their train was waiting at the depot an old colored man, with one arm bandaged and hung in an old red handkerchief for a sling, walked along the platform. "What's the matter with your arm, uncle?" called out one of the tourists. "It was hurt in de wah, sah. Hab you any 'bacco you could gib a po' ole niggah, sah?" Several of the tourists poked their heads out of the car windows to listen, and in a few moments the old darky had taken up a collection in his hat, consisting of a plug of tobacco, three or four cigars, and sundry nickels, dimes, and quarters. "How were you wounded?" asked a tourist. "Were you shot in the arm?" "No, sah; hit wusn't exac' by a shot." "Piece of shell strike you?" "No, sah; wusn't a shell." "Bayonet wound, maybe?" "No, boss, hit wusn't a bayonet." "What battle were you in?" "Do' know ef it had a name, but hit was a mighty hot fight while it lasted." "Do you draw a pension?" "No, boss." "It seems it would be a charitable act," said a tourist to the others, "to take this old darky's name and see that he gets the pension he is certainly entitled to. What is your name, uncle?" "Mose Atkisson, sah." "Now, Mose," said the tourist, "give me the particulars of the engagement you were in, and the date, and all the information you possess about the manner in which you were wounded, and the government will pay you a nice little sum every three months to help you along." "Am dat so, boss?" asked the old darky, his eyes growing big with wonder. "Den I'll sho tell you about hit. Hit wus jes' befor' supper en I was totin' a big chance ob wood in to make a fiah, when--" "Never mind about what you did in camp," said the tourist. "Tell us in which battle of the War of the Rebellion were you engaged." "It wusn't dat wah, boss; it wus de wah wid Spain." "What do you mean?"