Once more the grapple was hand to hand, man to man, in the darkness. John Vaughan had fired the last load, save one, from his revolver, and sword in hand, was cheering his men in a mad effort to regain their lost entrenchments. Blue and grey were mixed in black confusion. Only by the light of flashing guns could friend be distinguished from foe. A musket flamed near his face and through the deep darkness which followed a sword thrust pierced his side. He sprang back with an oath and clinched with his antagonist, feeling for his throat in silence. For a minute they wheeled struggled and fought in desperation, stumbling over underbrush, slipping to their knees and rising. Every instinct of the fighting brute in man was up now and the battle was to the death for one--perhaps both. John succeeded at last in releasing his right hand and drawing his revolver. His enemy sprang back at the same moment and through the darkness again came the sword into his breast. He felt the blood following the blade as it was snatched away, raised his revolver and fired his last shot squarely at his foe. The muzzle was less than two feet from his face and in the flash he saw Ned's look of horror, both brothers recognizing each other in the same instant. "John--my God, it's you!" "Yes--yes--and it's you--God have mercy if I've killed you!" In a moment the older brother had caught Ned's sinking body and lowered it gently on the leaves. "It's all right, John, old man," he gasped. "If I had to die it's just as well by your hand. It's war--it's hell--all hell--anyhow--what's the difference----" "But you mustn't die, Boy!" John whispered fiercely. "You mustn't, I tell you!" "I didn't want to die," Ned sighed. "Life was--just--becoming--real--beautiful--wonderful----" He stopped and drew a deep breath. John bent lower and Ned's arm slipped toward his neck and his fingers touched the warm blood soaking his clothes. "I'm--afraid--I--got--you,--too,--John----" "No, I'm all right--brace up, Boy. Pull that devil will of yours together--we've both got it--and live!" The younger man's head had sunk on his brother's blood-stained breast. "Now, look here, Ned, old man--this'll never do--don't--don't--give up!" The answer came faint and low: "Tell--Betty--when--you--see--her--that--with--my--last--breath--I--spoke --her--name--her--face--lights--the--dark--way----" "You're going, Ned?" "Yes----" "Say you forgive me!" "There's--nothing--to--forgive--it's--all--right--John--good-bye----" The voice stopped. The battle had ceased. The woods were still. The older brother could feel the slow rising and falling of the strong young chest as if the muscles in the glory of their perfect life refused to hear the call of Death. He bent in the darkness and kissed the trembling lips and they, too, were still. He drew himself against the trunk of a tree and through the beautiful summer night held the body of his dead brother in his arms.