There was a moment's pause, then Norine inquired, curiously: "What is the trouble? You'd better 'fess up."
Branch struggled with himself, he swallowed hard, then said: "I'm- -going to. You can see now why I didn't go to a doctor: I did it--shot myself. You won't give me away?"
"Why--I don't understand."
"Oh, I'm in trouble. I simply had to get away, and this was all I could think of. I wanted to blow a real hole through myself and I tried three times. But I missed myself."
"Missed yourself? How? Why?"
Branch wiped the sweat from his face. "I flinched--shut my eyes and pulled the trigger."
Norine seated herself weakly; she stared in bewilderment at the unhappy speaker. "Afraid? You, El Demonio! Why, you aren't afraid of anything!"
"Say! You don't believe all that stuff, do you? I'm afraid of my shadow and always have been. I'm not brave and never was. They told me I was going to die and it scared me so that I tried to end things quickly. I couldn't bear to die slowly, to KNOW that I was dying by inches. But, Lord! It scared me even worse to go into battle. I was blind with fright all the time and I never got over it. Why, the sight of a gun gives me a chill, and I jump every time one goes off. God! how I've suffered! I went crazy at our first engagement--crazy with fear. I didn't know where I was, or what happened, or anything. Afterward, when they hailed me as a hero, I thought they were kidding, that everybody must know how frightened I was. After a time I saw that I'd fooled them, and that shamed me. Then--I had to keep it up or become ridiculous. But it nearly killed me."
"If you're speaking the truth, I'm not sure you're such a coward as you make out," Norine said.
"Oh yes, I am. Wait! Before I knew it I had a reputation. Then I had to live up to it." The speaker groaned. "It wasn't so bad as long as I felt sure I was going to die, anyhow, but when I discovered I was getting well--" Branch raised a pair of tragic eyes, his tone changed. "I'll tell you what cured me. I SCARED myself well! Those bugs in my lungs died from suffocation, for I never breathed as long as there was a Spaniard in the same county with me. One day I found that I couldn't cough if I tried. I got strong. I slept well. And EAT? Huh! I gobbled my share of food and whined for more. I stole what belonged to the others. I began to enjoy myself--to have fun. Life opened up nice and rosy. I fell in love with my new self and the joy of living. Then I didn't want to die--never had, you understand, except to cheat the bugs; it gave me the horrors to think of the chances I'd taken. To be strong, to be healthy and free from pain, to tear my food like a wild animal, and to enjoy hard work was all new and strange and wonderful. I was drunk with it. To think of being cut down, crippled, reduced to the useless, miserable thing I had been, was intolerable. I was twice as scared then as I'd ever been, for I had more to lose. You understand? I forced myself to do the insane things expected of me, when people were looking--natural pride, I suppose--but when they weren't looking, oh, how I dogged it! I crawled on my belly and hid in holes like a snake."