"I put down the shootin' iron and went--it was a long way--two
days on horseback. I got to Bill's cabin at night; I went in without
a knock; I wasn't afraid. Bill's folks were round the bed. He
arose and cried out: 'John, I sent for you; it was a damn lie I told--your
boy didn't do it'--and then Bill died."

For the moment the old man's agitation mastered him.

"I remember, Mr. Dale. 'Ves' told me; he brought the statements
of the family--and yours. I've been thinking of it ever since--and a great
deal these last two days. Tell me, why did you happen to come?"

"Mother had a dream that said the time was up."

Dale spoke as calmly as though delivering a message from a neighbor.

Fear was not even a memory now. He stood erect; the stone he had
slowly pushed up many steep years was near the summit--one mighty
effort might hurl it down the past forever.

"Just a word about that boy, Mr. President. At Cold Harbor his regiment
stood in hell all day; he was one of those who pinned his name to his
coat so his body could be identified--after the charge. Well, in that
charge the flag went down, and a man went out to get it--and he fell; then
another--and he fell; and then a thin, pale fellow that the doctors almost
refused sprang forward like a panther--and he fell. They were askin' for a
volunteer when a staff officer called out: 'Good God! He's alive! He's got
it! He's crawlin' back!'

"They had to lift him off the colors; he didn't know anything, . . . and