When the fight was nearly over, the horse which Palmer rode broke from the _mélée_ and rushed back to the road. His master did not guide him. His face was set, pale; there was a thin foam on his lips. He had felt a sabre-cut in his side in the first of the engagement, but had not heeded it: now, he was growing blind, reeling on the saddle. Every bound of the horse jarred him with pain. His sense was leaving him, he knew; he wondered dimly if he was dying. That was the end of it, was it? He hoped to God the Union cause would triumph. Theodora,--he wished Theodora and he had parted friends. The man fell heavily forward, and the horse, terrified to madness, sprang aside, on a shelving ledge on the road-side, the edge of a deep mountain-gully. It was only sand beneath the snow, and gave way as he touched it. The animal struggled frantically to regain his footing, but the whole mass slid, and horse and rider rolled senseless to the bottom. When the noon-sun struck its peering light that day down into the dark crevice, Palmer lay there, stiff and stark. When the Federal troops had passed by that morning, Scofield felt some one lift him gently, where he had fallen. It was Bone. "Don't yer try ter stan', Mars' Joe," he said. "I kin tote yer like a fedder. Lor' bress yer, dis is nuffin'. We'll hev yer roun' 'n no time,"--his face turning ash-colored as he talked, seeing how dark the stain was on the old man's waistcoat. His master could not help chuckling even then. "Bone," he gasped, "when will ye quit lyin'? Put me down, old fellow. Easy. I'm goin' fast." Death did not take him unawares. He had thought all day it would end in this way. But he never knew who killed him,--I am glad of that. Bone laid him on a pile of lumber behind some bushes. He could do little,--only held his big hand over the wound with all his force, having a vague notion he could so keep in life. He did not comprehend yet that his master was dying, enough to be sorry: he had a sort of pride in being nearest to Mars' Joe in a time like this,--in having him to himself. That was right: hadn't they always been together since they were boys and set rabbit-traps on the South-Branch Mountain? But there was a strange look in the old man's eyes Bone did not recognize,--a new and awful thought. Now and then the sharp crack of the musketry jarred him. "Tink dem Yankees is gettin' de Debbil in de Gap," Bone said, consolingly. "Would yer like ter know how de fight is goin', Mars'?" "What matters it?" mumbled the old man. "Them things is triflin', after all,--now,--now." "Is dar anyting yer'd like me ter git, Mars' Joe?" said Bone, through his sobs. The thought of the dying man was darkening fast; he began to mutter about Dode, and George at Harper's Ferry,--"Give Coly a warm mash to-night, Bone." "O Lord!" cried the negro, "ef Mist' Dode was hyur! Him's goin', an' him's las' breff is given ter de beast! Mars' Joe," calling in his ear, "fur God's sake say um prayer!"