I had not asked the question; but he seemed to feel a necessary inquiry in the tableau I had seen. "He used to come down to the track when he first got back an' perform that fool trick with his hand to his hat when the soldiers went by an' they let him know.... Too weak, now; ... failin'.... Girl's al'ays there, though, when she knows.... Kind o' hope he'll--he'll--he'll ... You know, neighbor, from what she's done f'r him, how mother must love him!" We had come to the end of his journey, now--a little country station--and he left the train without a word to me or a backward look, his huge hat drawn down over his eyes. I felt that I had seen a curious, dark, dramatic, badly-drawn, wildly-conceived and Dantesque painting. He climbed into a carriage which stood by the platform, and to which was harnessed a pair of magnificent coach-bred horses which plunged and reared fearfully as the train swept into the station, and were held, easily and by main strength, like dogs or sheep, by a giant in the conveyance who must have been Tom or Wallace. From time to time, the steeds gathered their feet together, trampled the earth in terror, and then surged on the bits. The giant never deigned even to look at them. He held the lines, stiff as iron straps, in one hand, took his father's bag in the other, threw the big horses to the right by a cruel wrench of the lines to make room for his father to climb in, which he did without a word. As the springs went down under the weight the horses dashed away like the wind, the young man guiding them by that iron right hand with facile horsemanship, and looking, not at the road, but at his father. As they passed out of sight the father of Captain Hawes turned, looked at me, and waved his hand. I thought I had seen him for the last time, and went back to get the story from the soldiers. "It wasn't so much the way he brought the datto into camp," said one of them, "or the way he always worked his way to the last bally front peak of the fighting line. It takes a guy with guts to do them things; but that goes with the game--understand? But he knew more'n anybody in the regiment about keepin' well. He made the boys take care of themselves. When a man is layin' awake scheming to keep the men busy and healthy, there's always a job for him.... And he had a way of making the boys keep their promises.... And he's come home to die, and leave that girl of his--and all the chances he's had in a business way if he wants to leave the army. It don't seem right! The boys say the president has invited him to lunch; and he's got sugar-plantation and minin' jobs open to him till you can't rest.... And to be done by a cussed poison Moro kris! But he got Mr. Moro--played even; an' that's as good as a man can ask, I guess. Hell, how slow this train goes!"