"I live up by Bethlehem, New Hampshire," he remarked, "and if you ever come
that way, I hope you'll look me up; my name's Moriarty."
"Your name's Moriarty, I shall remember," repeated Dan, trying, with a
terrible effort, to steady his quivering limbs.
"Jim Moriarty, don't you forget it. Anybody at Bethlehem can tell you about
me; I keep the biggest store around there." He went off a few steps and
then came back to hold out an awkward hand in which there was a little heap
of silver.
"You'd just better take this to start you on your way," he said, "it ain't
but ninety-five cents--I couldn't make out the dollar--and when you get it
in again you can send it to Jim Moriarty at Bethlehem, New Hampshire.
Good-by, and good luck to you this time."
He strode off across the field, and Dan, with the silver held close in his
palm, flung himself back upon the ground and slept until Pinetop woke him
with a grasp upon his shoulder.
"Marse Robert's passin' along the road," he said. "You'd better hurry."
Struggling to his feet Dan rushed from the woods across the deserted field,
to the lines of conquered soldiers standing in battle ranks upon the
roadside. Between them the Commander had passed slowly on his dapple gray
horse, and when Dan joined the ranks it was only in time to see him ride
onward at a walk, with the bearded soldiers clinging like children to his
stirrups. A group of Federal cavalrymen, drawn up beneath a persimmon tree,
uncovered as he went by, and he returned the salute with a simple gesture.
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