As they entered Barney saw twenty or thirty men in civilian dress, guarded by a dozen infantrymen. They were stand-ing before the wall of a low brick building. Barney noticed that there were no windows in the wall. It suddenly oc-curred to him that there was something peculiarly grim and sinister in the appearance of the dead, blank surface of weather-stained brick. For the first time since he had faced the military court he awakened to a full realization of what it all meant to him--he was going to be lined up against that ominous brick wall with these other men--they were going to shoot them.
A momentary madness seized him. He looked about upon the other prisoners and guards. A sudden break for liberty might give him temporary respite. He could seize a rifle from the nearest soldier, and at least have the satisfaction of selling his life dearly. As he looked he saw more soldiers entering the factory yard.
A sudden apathy overwhelmed him. What was the use?
He could not escape. Why should he wish to kill these soldiers? It was not they who were responsible for his plight --they were but obeying orders. The close presence of death made life seem very desirable. These men, too, desired life.
Why should he take it from them uselessly. At best he might kill one or two, but in the end he would be killed as surely as though he took his place before the brick wall with the others.
He noticed now that these others evinced no inclination to contest their fates. Why should he, then? Doubtless many of them were as innocent as he, and all loved life as well. He saw that several were weeping silently. Others stood with bowed heads gazing at the hard-packed earth of the factory yard. Ah, what visions were their eyes beholding for the last time! What memories of happy firesides! What dear, loved faces were limned upon that sordid clay!
His reveries were interrupted by the hoarse voice of a sergeant, breaking rudely in upon the silence and the dumb terror. The fellow was herding the prisoners into position.
When he was done Barney found himself in the front rank of the little, hopeless band. Opposite them, at a few paces, stood the firing squad, their gun butts resting upon the ground.
The young lieutenant stood at one side. He issued some instructions in a low tone, then he raised his voice.
"Ready!" he commanded. Fascinated by the horror of it, Barney watched the rifles raised smartly to the soldiers' hips--the movement was as precise as though the men were upon parade. Every bolt clicked in unison with its fellows.
"Aim!" the pieces leaped to the hollows of the men's shoulders. The leveled barrels were upon a line with the breasts of the condemned. A man at Barney's right moaned.
Another sobbed.
"Fire!" There was the hideous roar of the volley. Barney Custer crumpled forward to the ground, and three bodies fell upon his. A moment later there was a second volley--all had not fallen at the first. Then the soldiers came among the bodies, searching for signs of life; but evidently the two volleys had done their work. The sergeant formed his men in line. The lieutenant marched them away. Only silence remained on guard above the pitiful dead in the factory yard.
