12. head out of that sand, before it gets into your eyes and blinds you permanently?" The voice was that of his brother, and the words were the last that Arnold had ever heard his brother speak. He had spoken them years before, as Arnold and his guard had been ready to step into the train. As Arnold remembered these words, he saw his brother's young earnest face, with eyes that beseeched him to reconsider the step he was taking. Arnold remembered his parents' faces, They felt the same as Harold, but they had said nothing. After this brief recollection, Arnold shook his head and brought himself back to the present. He decided, "No, Boze was right when he insinuated that I killed my brother. I am guilty. He was too killed to make up for my cowardice. I'm going to shoot that killer." Arnold was more surprised than hurt when a bullet ripped into his shoulder. His first idea was, "How could he shoot me, just when I was about to change my whole way of life by killing him?" He screeches as he fell to his knees and tried to see his assailant somewhere in the blackness. He heard his own quivering voice cry out, "No, no, don't shoot again. I wouldn't kill you. I couldn't. You're safe with me." He hear d voices far, far away in the forest. The posse had heard the shots and was closing in. When they got there, Arnold knew they would taunt him with his cowardice again, but this was different; this was his life he was begging for. The killer heard, too, and resigned himself at last to his fate. He struck a match and lit another cigarette, and Arnold saw the face again. The man looked at Arnold curiously in the light of the match. Arnold pulled on the man's arm, and begged for life. "Don't shoot,don't shoot. I couldn't kill you. See, I'll, even throw my gun away." He flung Boze Wilkins' Lugar from his hand, and heard it strike a rock in the distance. He heard his words jerking out in spasms, felt the warm blood ooze down his body, realized that his face was covered with tears and cold sweat. And he went on begging. "Please, 13. no, I spent seven years in a conscientious objector's camp, just because I did not know how to kill a man. How could I kill you now? You've already killed twice, don't do it again. The posse's coming now, and they'll be sure to get you." Arnold slowly straightened, his back, while hot flames of shame and self contempt blazed through his mind, and his heart. He had used his strongest principles in defense of a thing so paltry and unimportant as his own life, a life which had been lived for no good reason. He hated himself. He felt that he had dragged himself down to new low levels, and now saw himself for the first time, a wretched, begging, coward. He realized vaguely, that the killer had bent down over him,had lit another match, and was staring scornfully into Arnolds eyes. Arnold heard the killer's words clearly. They were probably the last he would ever hear. The man said, "Yes, I've murdered twice tonight thrice too often, but this time I won't murder a man; I'll exterminate a pest." The killer clenched his teeth, the match went out, and as Arnold heard the sliding metallic sound once more, he wondered "Have I been right these last seven years or am I only now proving that I've been a fool?" Another bullet ripped into his body, and as he fell, the thought of whip flashed through Arnold's mind again. How like a whip were these bullets. The killer stook above Arnold, and Arnold heard him cock his gun and fire twice more. That was all Arnold heard, and all Arnold saw and all Arnold did and thought, and decided on his first evening out of the objectors' camp. For an hour or so he lay on the ground, until they picked up his dead body and carried it home. He lay there with the blood flowing from his wounds. And the life flowed out "with it. Blood and life mingled, and flowed together from the body of a coward, and warmed the cold November earth where it ran, and soaked into it. The next morning the spot where Arnold had been was covered with dead leaves. It was as if he had never died. And with people who had known him, as if he had never lived.