new where he came from either--or his real name."

And then in his dying agony the fallen demagogue turns, and the other
side of his twitching face comes uppermost. Even through the thin,
grizzly beard there is plainly seen an ugly, jagged scar stretching
from ear to chin.

"This isn't his first row by any manner of means, if it is his last,"
says a sergeant of police. "Look at that! Who shot him, anyhow?"

"I did," is the cool, prompt answer, and Sergeant Feeny raises his
hand to his carried carbine and stands attention as he sees the
surgeon kneeling there. "I did, and just in the nick of time. He had
drawn a bead on our lieutenant; but even if he hadn't I'd have downed
him, and so would any man in that company yonder." And Feeny points to
where "C" troop stands resting after its charge.

"You knew him, then?"

"Knew him instantly, as a deserter, thafe, highway-man, and
murderer,--knew him as Private Bland in Arizona, and would know him
anywhere by that scar."

A policeman bends and wrenches a loaded revolver from the clutching,
quivering fingers just as Wing comes striding back and shoulders a way
into the group.

"Is he badly hurt, doctor? That was an awful whack."

"It isn't the lieutenant, sir," says Feeny, respectfully, but with
strange significance in his tone as he draws a policeman aside.
"Look!"

And Wing, bending over, gives one glance into the dying face, then
covers his eyes with his hands and turns blindly, dizzily, away.

That evening a host of citizens are gathered about the bivouac of the
battalion at the water-works while the trumpets are sounding tattoo. A
few squares away the familiar notes come floating in through the open
windows of a room where Jim Drummond is lying on a most comfortable
sofa, which has been rolled close to the casement, where every whiff
of the cool lake breeze can fan his face, and where, glancing
languidly around, he contrasts the luxury of these surroundings with
the rude simplicity of the life he has lived and loved so many years.
Gray-haired George Harvey, kindly Mrs. Stone, his sister, blissful,
beautiful Fanny Wing with burly baby Harvey in her arms and her proud,
soldierly husband by her side, and a tall, lovely, silent girl have
all been there to minister to his needs and bid him thrice welcome and
make him feel that here, if anywhere on earth, he is at home. And here
the battalion surgeon and the family physician unite in declaring he
must remain until rel