me over her. There was mockery in her voice as she called
out to him.

"Have you stubbed your toe, little boy?"

He looked up, dazed. Then he arose, turning his back while he dashed
his hand across his eyes. When he glanced back at her he saw that she
was smiling. But she also saw something in his face that drove the
smile away. Absolute rage gleamed in his eyes.

"So it is real war," he said hoarsely, his face quivering. "Your
pitiful cowards want it to be real, do they? Well, that's what it
shall be, hang them! They shall have all they want of it! Look! This
is their way of fighting, is it? Look!"

He pointed to his feet. Her bewildered eyes saw that his hand was
bloody and a deathly sickness came over her. He was pointing to the
outstretched, inanimate form of the dog that had been his friend
and comrade. She knew that the beast was dead and she knew that her
brother's threat had not been an idle one. A great wave of pity and
horror swept over her. Moisture sprang to her eyes on the moment.

"He--he is dead?" she exclaimed.

"Yes--and killed by some cowardly brute whose neck I'd like to wring.
That dog--my Bonaparte--who knew no feud, who did no wrong! Your
brother wants war, does he? Well, I'll give him all--"

"But my brother could not have done a thing like this," she cried,
slipping from her saddle and advancing toward him quickly. "Oh, no,
no! Not this! He is not that sort, I know. It must have been an
accident and--"

"Accident! Don't come near me! I mean it. God, my heart is too full of
vengeance. Accident? Is this blood on my arm accidental? Bah! It was a
deliberate attempt to murder me!"

"You? You, too?" she gasped, reeling.

"Yes--they've winged me, too. Oh, God, if I only had been armed. There
_would_ have been a killing!"

"Let me see--let me help you!" she cried, coming up to his side,
white-faced and terrified. "I won't stay away! You are hurt. Please!
Please! I am not your enemy."

For a long minute he held back, savagely resentful, glowering upon
her, then his face softened and his hand went out to clasp hers.

"I knew you had nothing to do with it. Forgive me--forgive my
rudeness. Don't be alarmed about me. Two or three scattered shot
struck me in the arm. The fellow's aim was bad when it came to me.
But he--he got the dog! Poor old Bonaparte! It's as if he were a--a
brother, Miss Drake. I loved him and he loved me."

"You must let me see your arm. I will not take no for an answer.