ered him with groans, with curses, with shouts of "_Lead us
on, Jud Carpenter!_"

"When the jail is fired from the rear," shouted Carpenter, "stay
where you are and shoot; they've no chance at all. It's fire or
bullet."

Richard Travis heard it and his heart leaped--but only for one
tempting moment, when a vision of loveliness in widow's weeds swept
through that soul of his inner sight, which sees into the future.
Then the new light came back uplifting him with a wave of joyous
strength that was sweetly calm in its destiny--glad that he had
lived, glad that this test had come, glad for the death that was
coming.

It was all well with him.

He forgot himself, he forgot his deadly wound, the bitterness of his
life, the dog's bite--all--in the glory of this feeling, the new
feeling which now would go with him into eternity.

For, as he lay there, he had seen the bell's turret above the jail
and his mind was quick to act.

He smiled faintly--a happy smile--the smile of the old Roman ere he
leaped into the chasm before the walls of Rome--leaped and saved his
countrymen. He loved to do difficult things--to conquer and overcome
where others would quit. This always had been his glory--he
understood that. But this new thing--this wanting to save men who
were doomed behind their barricade--this wanting to give what was
left of his life for them--his enemies--this was the thing he could
not understand. He only knew it was the call of something within him,
stronger than himself and kin to the stars, which, clear and sweet
above his head, seemed to be all that stood between him and that
clear Sweet Thing out, far out, in the pale blue Silence of Things.

He reached out and found his rifle. In his coat pocket were
cartridges. His arms were still strong--he sprang the magazine and
filled it.

Then slowly, painfully, he began to crawl off toward the jail,
pulling his rifle along. No one saw him but, God! how it hurt!...
that star falling ... scattering splinters of light everywhere ... so
he lay on his face and slept awhile....

When he awoke he flushed with the shame of it: "Fainted--me--like a
girl!" And he spat out the blood that boiled out of his lips.

Crawling--crawling--and dragging the heavy rifle. It seemed he would
never strike the rock fence. Once--twice, and yet a third time he had
to sink flat on the grass and spit out the troublesome blood....

The fence at last, and following it he was soon in the rear of