"He gave me some 'baccy and a roll of money.
"'The paymaster's been about, and he gave me more 'n I want now. You'll want 'baccy in hosp't'l,—you'll want it all,' he said.
"And he run over in blood and died. He gave me right smart of money. I rolled away from him when he died, and they took me to hosp't'l."
The Sergeant paused for my comment.
Under my peculiar circumstances, I was very much touched by this story.
"Poor fellow! many such a one has gone to his account," I said, sadly.
"And I want to give back some of the money to you," said the Sergeant.
I looked at him in astonishment.
"You'll want it down there, as much as you can git. I have no need of it. It a'n't mine. It's his'n."
The Sergeant had evidently taken it in trust.