are,' says they--ev'ry British son uv a gun they
wus there up 'n' hollered, 'Then,' says he, 'giv' 'im th' slide.'

"Ray he put down 'is sword 'n' picked up 'is coat 'n' vest. Then
they grabbed th' lights, 'n' thet 's th' last I see on' em there.
Purty quick 'twus all dark. Hearn 'em comin' upstairs 'n goin'
'cross th' floor over my head. 'Gun t' think o' myself a leetle
bit then. Knowed I was in thet air slide, an' hed t' le' go purty
quick. Hed n't no idee where it went tew, but I cal'lated I wus
middlin' sure t' know 'fore long. Knowed when I le' go I wus goin'
t' dew some tall slippin' over thet air greased bottom. See a
light come down th' box 'n a minute. Hearn somebody speakin' there
et the upper end.

"'This 'ere's th' las' test o' yer courage,' says a man, says he;
'few comes here alive 'n' sound es you be. Ye wus a doomed man.
Ye 'd hev been shot at daylight, but we gin ye a chance fer yer
life. So fur ye 've proved yerself wuthy. Ef ye hold yer courage,
ye may yit live. Ef ye flinch, ye 'll land in heaven. Ef yer life
is spared, remember how we honor courage.'

"Then they gin 'im a shove, 'n' I hearn 'im a-comin'. I flopped
over 'n' le' go. Shot away luk a streak o' lightnin'. Dum thing
grew steeper 'n' steeper. Jes' hel' up my ban's 'n' let 'er go
lickitty split. Jerushy Jane Pepper! jes' luk comin' down a
greased pole. Come near tekin' my breath away--did sart'n. Went
out o' thet air thing luk a bullet eggzac'ly. Shot int' the air
feet foremust. Purty fair slidin' up in the air 'most anywheres,
ye know. Alwus come down by the nighest way. 'T was darker 'n
pitch; could n't see a thing, nut a thing. Hearn Ray come out o'
the box 'bove me. Then I come down k'slap in th' water 'n' sunk.
Thought I 'd never stop goin' down. 'Fore I come up I hearn Ray
rip int' th' water nigh me. I come up 'n' shook my head, 'n'
waited. Judas Priest! thought he wus drownded, sart'n. Seemed so
I 'd bust out 'n' cry there 'n th' water waitin' fer thet air boy.
Soon es I hearn a flop I hed my han's on 'im.

"'Who be you?' says he.

"'D'ri,' says I.

"'Tired out,' says he; 'can't swim a stroke. Guess I 'll hev t' go
t' th' bottom.'"

XV

D'ri's narrative was the talk of the garrison. Those who heard the
telling, as I did not, were fond of quoting its odd phrases, and of
describing how D'ri would thrust and parry with his jack-knife in
the story of the bouts.

The mystery of that plu