The old doctor proved a true prophet. After another day of agonized
delirium he sank into a stupor which lasted through the night.

Then the change came. As the light began to grow at the eastern rim of
the prairie and up the far mountains in the west, Bruce opened his eyes
and looked about upon us. The doctor had gone; The Duke had not come
back; Moore and I were alone. He gazed at us steadily for some moments;
read our faces; a look of wonder came into his eyes.

"Is it coming?" he asked in a faint, awed voice. "Do you really think I
must go?"

The eager appeal in his voice and the wistful longing in the wide-open,
startled eyes were too much for Moore. He backed behind me and I could
hear him weeping like a baby. Bruce heard him, too.

"Is that The Pilot?" he asked. Instantly Moore pulled himself up, wiped
his eyes and came round to the other side of the bed and looked down,
smiling.

"Do YOU say I am dying?" The voice was strained in its earnestness. I
felt a thrill of admiration go through me as the Pilot answered in a
sweet, clear voice: "They say so, Bruce. But you are not afraid?"

Bruce kept his eyes on his face and answered with grave hesitation:

"No--not--afraid--but I'd like to live a little longer. I've made such
a mess of it, I'd like to try again." Then he paused, and his
lips quivered a little. "There's my mother, you know," he added,
apologetically, "and Jim." Jim was his younger brother and sworn chum.