“But the pain—”

“Hit’s settled down some. Hit’s tight in my chest is the worst part. The rest dont feel at all. Please. I’m scairt I might die while I’m asleep.”

“You’re holding up real well. Maybe you aint going to die.”

“Up on the mountain there, I wanted to die. Just for that moment, I wanted it. And now I dont, even with my legs gone. Aint that funny?”

His voice faded, even without the morphine, and he slept again. Miles returned with another man and they carried him to the train.

“Why dont you keep him in the hospital here?” the man asked. “He looks about done for.”

Miles looked at me.

“Doctor’s seen him and said they done all they can. And he wants to go home. I reckon he’s got a better chance there anyway.”

“Legs don’t work, huh? Poor bastard.”

They carried him to a car toward the back of the train that was done up like a setting room and laid him on a desk. I tucked a blanket around him.

“More room here,” the man said, and left. I sank onto a chair beside Rondal.

“Who was that?”

“Works for Malcolm Denbigh, Davidson’s number two man.” Miles smiled. “Denbigh’s English and that fellow is his interpreter.”

He unwrapped a turkey sandwich and handed it to me.

“Will you be in trouble?” I asked.

“Naw. I told them Rondal was one of my men who volunteered. They’ve got no reason to disbelieve it. In fact, they were impressed. Even gave us Lytton Davidson’s study here to stretch out in. Davidson’s not here. He went to White Sulphur Springs when things got hot.”

“Water,” Rondal said.

I jumped up to give him some and helped him sip tomato soup through a straw. I scarcely noticed when the train left the station.

The door opened and a tall man in a brown suit entered. He had a long heavy head and a wide nose.

“So this is the brave fellow,” he said loudly, as though Rondal was deaf. Rondal turned his head and stared.

“This is Malcolm Denbigh,” Miles said. He looked uneasy. “This is my sister, Carrie. She’s been on the mountain today nursing our boys.”

“My dear girl! Do you mean they wouldn’t let you stay in town to perform your duties?”

“Someone had to go,” I said. I glanced at Rondal. To my surprise he was smiling. I looked away quickly.

“A genuine Florence Nightingale,” Denbigh was saying. “I do admire your courage. My own wife thought it a chore to see me off on the train at four in the morning. But here’s the truly brave fellow.” He strolled over to Rondal. “What a shame you had to take a bullet. But I’ll bet you gave those reds a rough time of it. It is an honor to shake your hand.”