For a moment, neither moved nor spoke. The private's breath came and went in gasps.
Slowly Newt Spooner shook his head and withdrew his hand from his weapon. The joy had gone out of his enterprise. His victim had not suffered any terror or sense of defeat. It was not as he had pictured it. Whether he shot or did not shoot, Major Henry Falkins would be the victor of that encounter. He straightened up again, and spoke slowly and in bitterness:
"You penitentiaried me—an' ye thought ye had me thar fer life. Now, when ye've got things fixed jest ter suit ye, ye makes a big play when ye knows I hain't a-goin' ter take ye up. I hates ye wuss then pizen—an' I'm a-goin' ter kill ye, but I'm a-goin' ter pick my own time an' place. Damn ye ter hell! I hain't give up my notion. I'm goin' ter git ye—but not now."
"All right." Falkins again buckled on his belt. "When this war is over, we can settle our affairs. As long as you are in my command, your military duties come first. Is that agreed?"
"I hain't makin' no promises. I may git ye in a year. I may git ye in a month. I'd ruther hev ye jest study erbout thet."
"Spooner, you are a fool." The officer spoke rather contemptuously. "You have sworn to two oaths. One is personal; the other is national. You swore, when you were mustered in, to fight the battles of your country. Now you are either going to keep that oath, or leave the service. Which is it to be?"
"Hit 'pears like thar hain't a-goin' ter be no battles ter fight."
"All right. Give me your hand that until we are mustered out, or reach the front, I need not watch you."
For a long while, the boy from Troublesome stood breathing heavily. To have his regiment sail away without him, to lose both revenge and participation in the service which had filled his life with a new interest, were intolerable. Again he seemed thwarted.
"Henry Falkins, I'm a-goin' ter git ye. Ye kain't never make no peace with me—but es long as we stays hyar in camp I gives ye my hand on a truce. An' ef we gits fightin', maybe I'll wait tell ther war's over." Into his tone crept the death-note of finality. "But some day I'm a-goin' ter git ye."