the bottom of the valley. Magnified by its lift against the sky and by
the soldier's testifying sense of the formidableness of a near enemy the
group appeared of heroic, almost colossal, size.

For an instant Druse had a strange, half-defined feeling that he had
slept to the end of the war and was looking upon a noble work of art
reared upon that eminence to commemorate the deeds of an heroic past of
which he had been an inglorious part. The feeling was dispelled by a
slight movement of the group: the horse, without moving its feet, had
drawn its body slightly backward from the verge; the man remained
immobile as before. Broad awake and keenly alive to the significance of
the situation, Druse now brought the butt of his rifle against his cheek
by cautiously pushing the barrel forward through the bushes, cocked the
piece, and glancing through the sights covered a vital spot of the
horseman's breast. A touch upon the trigger and all would have been well
with Carter Druse. At that instant the horseman turned his head and
looked in the direction of his concealed foeman--seemed to look into his
very face, into his eyes, into his brave, compassionate heart.

Is it then so terrible to kill an enemy in war--an enemy who has
surprised a secret vital to the safety of one's self and comrades--an
enemy more formidable for his knowledge than all his army for its
numbers? Carter Druse grew pale; he shook in every limb, turned faint,
and saw the statuesque group before him as black figures, rising,
falling, moving unsteadily in arcs of circles in a fiery sky. His hand
fell away from his weapon, his head slowly dropped until his face rested
on the leaves in which he lay. This courageous gentleman and hardy
soldier was near swooning from intensity of emotion.

It was not for long; in another moment his face was raised from earth,