two days Wyman had scarcely stirred from where he lay bolstered
against the rock. Sometimes he became delirious from fever, uttering
incoherent phrases, or swearing in pitiful weakness. Again he would
partially arouse to his old sense of soldierly duty, and assume
intelligent command. Now he twisted painfully about upon his side,
and, with clouded eyes, sought to discern what man was lying next him.
The face was hidden so that all he could clearly distinguish was the
fact that this man was not clothed as a soldier.

"Is that you, Hampton?" he questioned, his voice barely audible.

The person thus addressed, who was lying flat upon his back, gazing
silently upward at the rocky front of the cliff, turned cautiously over
upon his elbow before venturing reply.

"Yes; what is it, sergeant? It looks to be a beauty of a morning way
up yonder."

There was a hearty, cheery ring to his clear voice which left the
pain-racked old soldier envious.

"My God!" he growled savagely. "'T is likely to be the last any of us
will ever see. Was n't it you I heard whistling just now? One might
imagine this was to be a wedding, rather than a funeral."

"And why not, Wyman? Did n't you know they employed music at both
functions nowadays? Besides, it is not every man who is permitted to
assist at his own obsequies--the very uniqueness of such a situation
rather appeals to my sense of humor. Pretty tune, that one I was
whistling, don't you think? Picked it up on 'The Pike' in Cincinnati
fifteen years ago. Sorry I don't recall the words, or I'd sing them
for you."

The sergeant, his teeth clinched tightly to repress the pain racking
him, stifled his resentment with an evident effort. "You may be less
light-hearted when you learn that the last of our ammunition is already
in the guns," he remarked, stiffly.

"I suspected as much." And the speaker lifted himself on one elbow to
peer down the line of recumbent figures. "To be perfectly frank with
you, sergeant, the stuff has held out considerably longer than I
believed it would, judging from the way those 'dough boys' of yours
kept popping at every shadow in front of them. It 's a marvel to me,
the mutton-heads they take into the army. Oh, now, you need n't scowl
at me like that, Wyman; I 've worn the blue, and seen some service
where a fellow needed to be a man to sport the uniform. Besides, I 'm
not indifferent, old chap, and just so long as there remained any work
wort