ky. The ghostly figure
resembled a wild creature of fable, born of the weird fancy of a Dore,
or an avenging angel of the Apocalypse. Then the rider shrank together
again and seemed to be bouncing up and down on the back of his horse
like a little grinning monkey.

The wounded man rubbed his eyes. What was that? Was he awake or had he
been dreaming?

He asked the ambulance soldier for a drink, and the latter at once
handed him some water in a tin cup. Now a real Japanese cavalryman was
once more sitting up there on his horse, while the officer was still
writing. Then the officer's arm began to grow longer and longer, until
at last he was writing on the sky with a fiery pencil:

"In case there is no Japanese attack on August 15th, the Tenth Brigade
under General Lawrence is to retain its present positions until the
attack of our center----"

Good Lord, what was that? Yes, those were the very words of the message
he was to have delivered to the Tenth Brigade, and not only were the
words identical, but the hand-writing was the same, for the flaming
letters had burnt themselves into his memory stroke for stroke and word
for word and line for line.

He tried to get up, but could not. The lieutenant kept on writing, while
the horseman stood beside him. The horse was brushing off the flies with
his tail.

Then the awful, maddening thought came to him: This must be the
beginning of wound-fever. If it kept up and he began to get delirious,
he might betray his orders for Lawrence's brigade to the enemy.

And he saw hundreds of Japanese standing around him, all stretching
their necks to catch his words, and more and more came from over the
mountain ridges like a swarm of ants, and they all wanted to hear the
secrets that he was trying to keep in his aching head, while the officer
waved his note-book over him like a fluttering flag. Then the doctor
seized him, and arm in arm they hopped to and fro--to and fro--to and
fro.

Yes, he was certainly delirious. Lieutenant Esher thought of his home.
He saw his little house on 148th Street. He came home from business, he
walked through the garden, hung up his coat on the rack, opened the
door, his young wife welcomed him, she nodded to him--Eveline--groaned
the lieutenant, and then his thoughts turned to God.

Then the writing officer again, the rider on his horse, and the dark
night-sky, in which the stars were dancing like silver gnats. Collecting
his whole willpower, he succ