CHAPTER 9
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he youth fell back in the procession until the tattered soldierwas not in sight. Then he started to walk on with the others. But he was amid wounds. The mob of men was bleeding.Because of the tattered soldier’s question he now felt that hisshame could be viewed. He was continually casting sidelongglances to see if the men were contemplating the letters of guilthe felt burned into his brow. At times he regarded the wounded soldiers in an enviousway. He conceived persons with torn bodies to be peculiarlyhappy. He wished that he, too, had a wound, a red badge ofcourage. The spectral soldier was at his side like a stalking reproach.The man’s eyes were still fixed in a stare into the unknown. Hisgray, appalling face had attracted attention in the crowd, andmen, slowing to his dreary pace, were walking with him. Theywere discussing his plight, questioning him and giving himadvice. In a dogged way he repelled them, signing to them to go onand leave him alone. The shadows of his face were deepeningand his tight lips seemed holding in check the moan of greatdespair. There could be seen a certain stiffness in the movementsof his body, as if he were taking infinite care not to arouse thepassion of his wounds. As he went on, he seemed always lookingfor a place, like one who goes to choose a grave. Something in the gesture of the man as he waved the bloodyand pitying soldiers away made the youth start as if bitten. Heyelled in horror. Tottering forward he laid a quivering hand uponthe man’s arm. As the latter slowly turned his waxlike featurestoward him, the youth screamed: “Gawd! Jim Conklin!” The tall soldier made a little commonplace smile. “Hello,Henry,” he said. The youth swayed on his legs and glared strangely. Hestuttered and stammered. “Oh, Jim—oh, Jim—oh, Jim—” The tall soldier held out his gory hand. There was a curiousred and black combination of new blood and old blood upon it.“Where yeh been, Henry?” he asked. He continued in amonotonous voice, “I thought mebbe yeh got keeled over. There’s been thunder t’ pay t’-day. I was worryin’ about it a gooddeal.” The youth still lamented. “Oh, Jim—oh, Jim—oh, Jim—” “Yeh know,” said the tall soldier, “I was out there.” He madea careful gesture. “An’, Lord, what a circus! An’, b’jiminey, I gotshot—I got shot. Yes, b’jiminey, I got shot.” He reiterated thisfact in a bewildered way, as if he did not know how it cameabout. The youth put forth anxious arms to assist him, but the tallsoldier went firmly on as if propelled. Since the youth’s arrival asa guardian for his friend, the other wounded men had ceased todisplay much interest. They occupied themselves again indragging their own tragedies toward the rear. Suddenly, as the two friends marched on, the tall soldierseemed to be overcome by a terror. His face turned to asemblance of gray paste. He clutched the youth’s arm and lookedall about him, as if dreading to be overheard. Then he began tospeak in a shaking whisper: “T tell yeh what I’m ’fraid of, Henry—I ’ll tell yeh what I ’mfraid of. I ’m ’fraid I ’Il fall down—an’ then yeh know—themdamned artillery wagons—they like as not “Il run over me. That’s what I’m ’fraid of—” The youth cried out to him hysterically: “I ‘Il take care ofyeh, Jim! I ’ll take care of yeh! I swear t’ Gawd I will!” “Sure—will yeh, Henry?” the tall soldier beseeched. “Yes—yes—lI tell yeh—I’ll take care of yeh, Jim!” protestedthe youth. He could not speak accurately because of the gulpingsin his throat. But the tall soldier continued to beg in a lowly way. He nowhung babelike to the youth’s arm. His eyes rolled in the wildnessof his terror. “I was allus a good friend t’ yeh, wa’n’t I, Henry? I ’ve allus been a pretty good feller, ain’t I? An’ it ain’t much t’ ask,is it? Jest t’ pull me along outer th’ road? I ’d do it fer you,wouldn’t I, Henry?” He paused in piteous anxiety to await his friend’s reply. The youth had reached an anguish where the sobs scorchedhim. He strove to express his loyalty, but he could only makefantastic gestures. However, the tall soldier seemed suddenly to forget all thosefears. He became again the grim, stalking specter of a soldier. Hewent stonily forward. The youth wished his friend to lean uponhim, but the other always shook his head and _ strangelyprotested. “No—no—no—leave me be—leave me be—” His look was fixed again upon the unknown. He moved withmysterious purpose, and all of the youth’s offers he brushedaside. “No—no—leave me be—leave me be—”
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