"For myself, I don't care much.

I'm worn out, anyway; and I only wanted to get my little girl to Richmond." At the thought of Virgie his anger returned to him, and he once more staggered to his feet.
"But you," he accused, "you've beaten a baby by the force of arms! You've run me to earth--and you've blocked her chance! It's Virgie you are fighting now--not me--yes, just as if you rode her down with a troop of horse! A fine thing, Colonel! For you, a brevet! For me, a firing squad! Well, call in your men and get it over!" Again he smiled; a grim, slow smile of bitterness and scorn.

"Bravo, Colonel Morrison! Bravo! You add one other glory to your conquering sword--and, besides, you'll receive five hundred dollars in reward!" The Northerner turned upon him fiercely, goaded at last to the breaking-point in a struggle as black and awful as the struggle of his brother-foe.
"Stop it, man!" he cried.

"I order you to stop! It's duty!--not a miserable reward!" His cheeks were flaming; his muscles quivered, and his fists were clenched.

"Do you actually suppose," he asked, "that I'm proud of this?
Do you think I'm wringing blood out of your heart and mine--for money ?" They faced each other, two crouching, snarling animals, the raw, primeval passions of their hearts released, each seeing through a mist of red; a mist that had risen up to roll across a mighty land and plunge its noblest sons into a bloody ruck of war.
They faced each other, silently; then slowly the features of the Southerner relaxed.