"Yes, yes!"
"Then it must be the next day," he pursued, still quizzically. "You see, I said I would not kill any more—and I will not—and I was shot and got tagged without even being shipped as freight. I was thirsty last night, very thirsty, and some one—I think it was Jake Pilzer—some one said to go to the fountain of hell for a drink, but I—I don't think that a very good place to get a drink, do you?"
Weak and faint as he was, he put a touch of drollery into the question which made her laugh, her eyes sparkling through a moist haze.
"You're real, aren't you?" he inquired in sudden perplexity. "I'm not dreaming?"
"As real as the water I shall bring you."
Soon Marta was back, holding a glass to his lips.
"There's no doubt about it; you are real!" said Hugo.
"I feel as if the chimney were still hot but that you had drenched the fire in the grate."
"Who put this on you?" she asked as she unpinned the placard.
"I've a vague idea, from a vague overhearing of the colonel's remarks, that it is public opinion," he replied, and seeing, that she was about to tear it up, he arrested her action. "No, I think I'd like to save it as a souvenir—the odds are so greatly against me—as a sort of souvenir to keep up my courage."