"another one," he heard two persons coming up the steps. He swore
to himself and set the glass down. Turning, he found Sergeants Potter
and Wilson at the head of the stairs, their dripping hats in their
hands. Their ponchos glistened in the lamp-light, and from them ran
little streams of water that gathered in globular pools, like
quick-silver, on the oiled floor.

Perkins, of course, had heard of the answer to the telegram, and had
thought the matter closed; but now these niggers had come to trouble him
again. They came forward, trailing their streams of water behind them.
He heard them through. He answered them craftily, smiling behind his
hand, with the cunning born of the fog in his brain. Shortly they went
away again, leaving on the table a pile of silver. Cable the President!
What a joke! and he chuckled aloud. He would teach them to come and
worry him with their foolishness.

Still the rain roared on the roof. Still he sat and drank, and drank
again, until the lamp-light grew sick and wan in the damp gray day.

The first sergeant, with the Morning Report, found Perkins seated in the
same place. Perkins signed the book in a sprawling scrawl, and the
sergeant went his way. The Chino cook brought the meals, and then came
and took them off again. The day dragged through, the gray evening fell;
the rain streamed down; and still the officer sat as before.

At eight fifteen he looked up to find Wilson and Potter before him.
There were the same glistening ponchos, the same little streams of
water, the same pools on the oiled floor. He himself sat in the same
place. The soldiers might have been gone ten minutes instead of
twenty-four hours, for all the change there was in the scene. Only the
pile of silver had disappeared.

No, no answer to the cablegram had been received, and Perkins could
hardly conceal his desire to roar with laughter, as the two turned and
trailed their streams of water back down the stairs.

At four o'clock he wobbled to the bed and threw himself down with all
his clothes on. He awoke at six, and, getting up uncertainly, went to
the window and looked out. Still rain and murky grayness everywhere. As
he stood, the assembly went; for when a man is to be hanged, a little
thing like rain does not interfere. Perkins turned from the window
quickly, and plunged his head into a basin of cold water. Then, in spite
of the early hour, he took a stiff "bracer," and throwing on his
slicker, went out. At th