In front of him was the slope of wind-moved corn field, and in the center of it the dim, military figure standing waist deep in the corn.
His eyes fixed themselves to it.
"Ole—uniform—with—a—stick—into—it."
He whispered the words very low.
Still—standing there—still. The same wooden attitude of it. His same, cunning watching of it.
There was a wind. He knew it was going over his face. He could feel the cool of the wind across his moistened lips.
He took a deep breath.
Down there in the shivering corn field, standing in the dark, blue shadows, the dim figure had quivered.
An arm moved—swaying to and fro. The other arm began—swaying—swaying. A tremor ran through it. Once it pivoted. The head shook slowly from side to side. The arms rose and fell—and rose again. The head came up and down and rocked a bit to either side.
"I'm here—" he muttered involuntarily. "Here."