The remaining horse was grazing a short distance away. Now and
then he lifted his head and gazed inquiringly at the two figures in the
road.
"Is it bad, Herr?" the innkeeper asked.
"Very. Get back to the inn. I don't want to peter out here." Then he
fainted.
It required some time and all the innkeeper's strength to put Hillars
on the horse. When this was accomplished he turned the horse's head
toward the inn. And that was all.
"Dan?" said I.
The lids of his eyes rolled wearily back.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Bury me."
It was very sad. "Where?" I asked.
"Did you see the little cemetery on the hill, across the valley? Put
me there. It is a wild, forgotten place. 'Tis only my body. Who
cares what becomes of that? As for the other, the soul, who can say?
I have never been a good man; still, I believe in God. I am tired,
tired and cold. What fancies a man has in death! A moment back I saw
my father. There was a wan, sweet-faced woman standing close beside
him; perhaps my mother. I never saw her before. Ah, me! these
chimeras we set our hearts upon, these worldly hopes! Well, Jack, it's
curtain and no encore.
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