"The Bar Sinister"?--"Where nobody hunts us, and there is
nothing to hunt."

Experienced persons tell us that a man-hunt is the most
exciting of all sports. R. H. D. hunted men in Cuba. He
hunted for wounded men who were out in front of the trenches
and still under fire, and found some of them and brought them
in. The Rough Riders didn't make him an honorary member of
their regiment just because he was charming and a faithful
friend, but largely because they were a lot of daredevils and
he was another.

To hear him talk you wouldn't have thought that he had ever
done a brave thing in his life. He talked a great deal, and
he talked even better than he wrote (at his best he wrote
like an angel), but I have dusted every corner of my memory
and cannot recall any story of his in which he played a
heroic or successful part. Always he was running at top
speed, or hiding behind a tree, or lying face down in a foot
of water (for hours!) so as not to be seen. Always he was
getting the worst of it. But about the other fellows he told
the whole truth with lightning flashes of wit and character
building and admiration or contempt. Until the invention of
moving pictures the world had nothing in the least like his
talk. His eye had photographed, his mind had developed and
prepared the slides, his words sent the light through them,
and lo and behold, they were reproduced on the screen of your
own mind, exact in drawing and color. With the written word
or the spoken word he was the greatest recorder and reporter
of things that he had seen of any man, perhaps, that ever