ut all kept up a good
front. We tried to make him believe it was only one of his bad days,
but he knew otherwise. He asked Joe Box and Ham Rhodes, the two
biggest men in the outfit, six-footers and an inch each, to sit one on
each side of his cot until he went to sleep. He knew better than any
of us how near he was to crossing. But it seemed he felt safe between
these two giants. We kept up a running conversation in jest with
one another, though it was empty mockery. But he never pretended to
notice. It was plain to us all that the fear was on him. We kept near
the shack the next day, some of the boys always with him. The third
evening he seemed to rally, talked with us all, and asked if some
of the boys would not play the fiddle. He was a good player himself.
Several of the boys played old favorites of his, interspersed with
stories and songs, until the evening was passing pleasantly. We were
recovering from our despondency with this noticeable recovery on his
part, when he whispered to his two big nurses to prop him up. They
did so with pillows and parkers, and he actually smiled on us all. He
whispered to Joe, who in turn asked the lad sitting on the foot of
the cot to play Farewell, my Sunny Southern Home.' Strange we had
forgotten that old air,--for it was a general favorite with us,--and
stranger now that he should ask for it. As that old familiar air was
wafted out from the instrument, he raised his eyes, and seemed to
wander in his mind as if trying to follow the refrain. Then something
came over him, for he sat up rigid, pointing out his hand at the
empty space, and muttered, 'There
stands--mother--now--under--the--oleanders. Who is--that
with--her? Yes, I had--a sister. Open--the--windows.
It--is--getting--dark--dark--dark.'

"Large hands laid him down tenderly, but a fit of coughing came on. He
struggled in a hemorrhage for a moment, and then crossed over to the
waiting figures among the oleanders. Of all the broke-up outfits, we
were the most. Dead tough men bawled like babies. I had a good one
myself. When we came around to our senses, we all admitted it was for
the best. Since he could not get well, he was better off. We took him
next day about ten miles and buried him with those freighters who were
killed when the Pawnees raided this country. Some man will plant corn
over their graves some day."

As Edwards finished his story, his voice trembled and there were tears
in his eyes. A strange silence had c