It was nearly midnight when the General saw the foot withdrawn, the big form arise and slouch over to the dying man: “Water—water—and, oh, for God’s sake—have mercy and kill me.”
Solomon tenderly lifted the gasping lips to the canteen: “Do yo’ means it—want me to kill ye sho’ nuff, brother?”
The man’s eyes were beseeching as he gasped: “I——can’t——live——death every——minute——put me——out of misery—God will——reward you.”
Solomon’s eyes were wet with tears. His great pitying heart thumped loudly: “How, brother? Whut with?”
The dying man nodded at a bayonetted rifle near by: “That——push that——through my heart——quick!”
The General arose just in time. Solomon, with a strange sob in his throat, stood over the man, the gun poised, the bayonet’s point—
“My God, Solomon!”—and he grasped the descending gun by the barrel. “This is murder—I’ll have you shot!” The giant turned on him astonished: “He cyant live—you-uns shot him to pieces. That’s war. I put him out o’ his misery—that’s murder. Strange—strange! Brother,” he stooped and whispered regretfully to the man, who beseeched him with fixed, unwinking eyes, “Brother, I’d do it—God knows I’d like ter ’commodate yer, but ye heurn yo’self.” Still lower: “But say, brother, ef you fin’ ye cyant stan’ it no longer—when they sleep—call Solomon—an’ I’ll sho’ ’commodate you in this. God bless ye.”
Later there was a rigid stiffening and gasps among the leaves and Solomon knew there was no need for his bayonet.
The next morning when the General arose, Solomon had fed and rubbed down Ajax, the thoroughbred. He stood talking to himself—he had forgotten the war: “Whut a hoss—whut legs—whut muscles, like bees a swarming! I’ve allers dreamed o’ keerin’ fur sech!” He turned to the General: “I’ll take keer o’ him from now on.” The General was touched and when he shook Solomon’s hand the bond was sealed.
“How long have you been up, Solomon?”