it,
because it's all a sign of the spirit in you kicking against your
weakness. I know how you feel--want to come and have another go in at
the Dwats?"

"Yes," said Bracy in a sharp whisper through his closed teeth. "I do
long to help give them an awful thrashing."

"Of course you do, my boy; and you shall soon. Now, if, instead of
kicking against hospital routine, you took to it in a mean, spiritless
sort of way, and lay there waiting to be roused up to speak, I should
feel uncomfortable about you, for I should know it was a bad sign.--
You'll be all right soon."

Bracy was silent for a few minutes, and lay gazing wistfully through the
window at the dazzling snow-peaks flashing miles away in the bright
sunshine. Then he shook his head slowly from side to side.

"It's of no use to be self-deceiving," he said at last. "I know as well
as can be, Rob, what's wrong. I'm not going to die."

"Die? Ha, ha! I should think not. Take more than a bullet-hole to
kill you."

Bracy smiled, and looked sadly in his friend's eyes.

"It's precious hard, old fellow," he said; "for as I lie here I feel
that I'm almost a boy still, and it comes so soon."

"What comes so soon?"

"My big trouble, old fellow. Morton won't say a word about it; but I
know."

"Come now; what do you know? You lie awake imagining all sorts of
things."

"But I don't imagine that. You can see it for yourself. I'm strong
enough in mind, but the weakness of body is terrible."

"Of course it is. You have had a hole right through you, made by a
rough piece of iron fired from a gun; but it's healing up fast."

"Yes," said Bracy, with a sigh, "the wound is healing up fast."

"Then, what more do you want?"

"My old manly strength," cried the sufferer with energy. "This
horrible, helpless weakness!"

"Dull! What an unreasonable patient you are!" cried Roberts. "How can
you expect the strength to come till the wound is healed?"

"I don't expect it," sighed the poor fellow. "Roberts, old man, it will
never come back. My spine was injured by that bullet."

"Yes; we know that."

"And it has affected the nerves so that I am going to be helpless for
the rest of my life--a poor invalid, whose fate is to be carried about
or wheeled everywhere."

"Don't believe it," said Roberts shortly. "Who told you that stuff?"

"My own instinct. You know I cannot move hand or foot."

"Not yet. Nature has bound you down so that your wound may not