"Let me follow him; it's not too late--"

The dying man struggled to one elbow.

"Don't follow, lad, if you love me."

"Who is he? Give me his name and--"

"He's acted in the name of God. You have no right to hunt him down."

"Then the law will do that."

"Not the law. For God's sake swear--"

"I'll swear anything. But now lie quiet; let me--"

"Don't try. This couldn't end no other way for John Bard."

"Is that your real name?"

"Yes. Now listen, Anthony, for my time's short."

He closed his eyes as if fighting silently for strength.

Then: "When I was a lad like you, Anthony--" That was all. The massive
body relaxed; the head fell back into the dewy grass. Anthony pressed
his head against the breast of John Bard and it seemed to him that there
was still a faint pulse. With his pocket knife he ripped away the coat
from the great chest and then tore open the shirt. On the expanse of the