"Somehow I feel a sense of wrong," Meredith whispered to Gay. "I feel as

if I had done the fellow to death myself, as if it were all out of gear. I

know, now, how Henry felt over the great Guisard. My God, how tall he

looks! That doesn't seem to me like a thug's hand."

The surgeon nodded. "Of course, if there's a mistake to be made, you can

count on Barrett and his sergeants to make it. I doubt if this is their

man. When they found him what clothes he wore were torn and stained; but

they had been good once, especially the linen."

Barrett bent over the recumbent figure. "See here. Jerry," he said, "I

want to talk to you a little. Rouse up, will you? I want to talk to you as

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a friend."

The incoherent muttering continued.

"See here, Jerry!" repeated Barrett, more sharply. "Jerry! rouse up, will

you? We don't want any fooling; understand that, Jerry!" He dropped his

hand on the man's shoulder and shook him slightly. The Teller uttered a

short, gasping cry.

"Let me," said Gay, and swiftly interposed. Bending over the cot, he said

in a pleasant, soft voice: "It's all right, old man; it's all right.

Slattery wants to know what you did with that man down at Plattville, when

you got through with him. He can't remember, and he thinks there was money

left on him. Slattery's head was hurt--he can't remember. He'll go shares

with you, when he gets it. Slattery's going to stand by you, if he can get

the money."

The Teller only tried to move his free hand to the shoulder Barrett had

shaken.

"Slattery wants to know," repeated the surgeon, gently moving the hand

back upon the sheet. "He'll divvy up, when he gets it. He'll stand by you,

old man."

"Would you please not mind," whispered the Teller faintly, "would you

please not mind if you took care not to brush against my shoulder again?"

The surgeon drew back with an exclamation; but the Teller's whisper

gathered strength, and they heard him murmuring oddly to himself. Meredith

moved forward.

"What's that?" he asked, with a startled gesture.

"Seems to be trying to sing, or something," said Barrett, bending over to

listen. The Teller swung his arm heavily over the side of the cot, the

fingers never ceasing their painful twitching, and Gay leaned down and

gently moved the cloths so that the white, scarred lips were free. They

moved steadily; they seemed to be framing the semblance of an old ballad

that Meredith knew; the whisper grew more distinct, and it became a rich

but broken voice, and they heard it singing, like the sound of some far,

halting minstrelsy: "Wave willows--murmur waters--golden sunbeams smile, Earthly music--cannot

waken--lovely--Annie Lisle."




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