"Well, sir, if that ain't th' derndest thing! I never thought Fred
Collins had the blood in him for that kind of business."

"What's he goin' to do, anyhow?"

"He's goin' to that well there after water."

"We ain't dyin' of thirst, are we? That's foolishness."

"Well, somebody put him up to it, an' he's doin' it."

"Say, he must be a desperate cuss."

When Collins faced the meadow and walked away from the regiment, he was
vaguely conscious that a chasm, the deep valley of all prides, was
suddenly between him and his comrades. It was provisional, but the
provision was that he return as a victor. He had blindly been led by
quaint emotions, and laid himself under an obligation to walk squarely
up to the face of death.

But he was not sure that he wished to make a retraction, even if he
could do so without shame. As a matter of truth, he was sure of very
little. He was mainly surprised.

It seemed to him supernaturally strange that he had allowed his mind to
manoeuvre his body into such a situation. He understood that it might be
called dramatically great.

However, he had no full appreciation of anything, excepting that he was