"Why, he had been in two battles, and the surgeons had been at work at him. What our men did not do the surgeons thought they would finish. The poor chap had to leave the army, but he was game all the way through. What do you suppose will happen to him in the Resurrection?"
"I haven't looked quite as far ahead as that," said Noel.
"'Tis strange," broke in Dennis, "how much a man can lose of himself, and still be the same man. Faith! I wouldn't know, if I lost me arm and me leg and me head and me eyes, whether I was Dennis O'Hara or somebody else."
"The fellow was game all through, as I said," continued the guard. "I'm a sharpshooter," he added abruptly.
"Are you?" inquired Noel quickly, though he endeavored to conceal his interest in the simple statement. Did the man know anything concerning the skill of Dennis and himself with the rifle? His gun, of which Noel had been exceedingly proud, had been taken from him. Whether or not the guard had any suspicions concerning his skill, the fact remained that without any kind of a weapon those suspicions mattered little.
"Yes," continued the guard. "I was in the pit firing at some Yanks over there on the Peninsula one time last June. There was a fellow firing away at me, and he was so good that he made me keep out of sight, too, most of the time. I thought I had him at the same minute when he thought he had me. We fired at the same time, and what do you think happened?"
"You both missed?" suggested Dennis.
"No, we didn't; at least both of us didn't miss. The strangest thing happened."
"What was it?" inquired Noel, apparently still more eagerly.
"Why, would you believe it?" said the soldier, "the bullet of that Yankee sharpshooter had gone right down the muzzle of my gun. It struck perfectly square and went into the muzzle the whole length of it."