I was uncertain what to do, whether to remain there with Belt or go out and help Whitestone with the watch. Duty to our cause said the latter, but in truth other voices are sometimes as loud as that of duty. I listened to one of the other.
I drew a chair near to Belt’s couch and sat down. He was still muttering in his hot, sweaty sleep like one with anger at things, and now and then threw out his long thin legs and arms. He looked like a man tied down trying to escape.
The candle still burned on the table, but its light was feeble at best. Shadows filled the corners of the room. I like sick-bed watches but little, and least of all such as that. They make me feel as if I had lost my place in a healthy world. To such purpose was I thinking when Belt sat up with a suddenness that made me start, and cried in a voice cracked with fever:
“Shelby, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here,” I replied with a cheeriness that I did not feel. “Lie down and go to sleep, lieutenant, or you’ll be a week getting well.”
“I can’t go to sleep, and I haven’t been to sleep,” he said, raising his voice, which had a whistling note of illness in it.
His eyes sparkled, and I could see that the machinery of his head was working badly. I took him by the shoulders with intent to force him down upon the couch; but he threw me off with sudden energy that took me by surprise.
“Let me go,” he said, “till I say what I want to say.”
“Well, what is it?” I asked, thinking to pacify him.
“Shelby,” said he, belief showing all over his face, “I’ve seen a ghost!”