"Judas Priest! He's one o' them sneks et tuk me when you was fightin' t' other feller over there 'n the woods."
"Looks rather bad for us," I remarked.
"Does hev a ruther squeaky luk tew it," said he. "All we got t' dew is t' keep breathin' jest es nat'ral 'n' easy es can be till we fergit how. May fool 'em fust they know."
I had a high notion, those days, of the duty of a soldier. My father had always told me there was no greater glory for anybody than that of a brave death. Somehow the feeling got to be part of me. While I had little fear of death, I dreaded to be shot like a felon. But I should be dying for my country, and that feeling seemed to light the shadows. When I fell asleep, after much worry, it was to dream of my three countrymen who had fallen to their faces there by the corn. I awoke to find the guard in our cell, and D'ri and he whispering together. He had come with our breakfast.
"All I want," D'ri was saying, "is a piece of iron, with a sharp end, half es long es yer arm."
He made no answer, that big, sullen, bull-dog man who brought our food to us. When he had
