In the mean time, however, Grayrock had made a close but unavailing search for the mortal part of the intruder at whom he had fired, and whom he had a marksman’s intuitive sense of having hit; for he was one of those born experts who shoot without aim by an instinctive sense of direction, and are nearly as dangerous by night as by day.  During a full half of his twenty-four years he had been a terror to the targets of all the shooting-galleries in three cities.  Unable now to produce his dead game he had the discretion to hold his tongue, and was glad to observe in his officer and comrades the natural assumption that not having run away he had seen nothing hostile.  His “honorable mention” had been earned by not running away anyhow.

Nevertheless, Private Grayrock was far from satisfied with the night’s adventure, and when the next day he made some fair enough pretext to apply for a pass to go outside the lines, and the general commanding promptly granted it in recognition of his bravery the night before, he passed out at the point where that had been displayed.  Telling the sentinel then on duty there that he had lost something,—­which was true enough—­he renewed the search for the person whom he supposed himself to have shot, and whom if only wounded he hoped to trail by the blood.  He was no more successful by daylight than he had been in the darkness, and after covering a wide area and boldly penetrating a long distance into “the Confederacy” he gave up the search, somewhat fatigued, seated himself at the root of the great pine tree, where we have seen him, and indulged his disappointment.

It is not to be inferred that Grayrock’s was the chagrin of a cruel nature balked of its bloody deed.  In the clear large eyes, finely wrought lips, and broad forehead of that young man one could read quite another story, and in point of fact his character was a singularly felicitous compound of boldness and sensibility, courage and conscience.

“I find myself disappointed,” he said to himself, sitting there at the bottom of the golden haze submerging the forest like a subtler sea—­ “disappointed in failing to discover a fellow-man dead by my hand!  Do I then really wish that I had taken life in the performance of a duty as well performed without?  What more could I wish?  If any danger threatened, my shot averted it; that is what I was there to do.  No, I am glad indeed if no human life was needlessly extinguished by me.  But I am in a false position.  I have suffered myself to be complimented by my officers and envied by my comrades.  The camp is ringing with praise of my courage.  That is not just; I know myself courageous, but this praise is for specific acts which I did not perform, or performed—­otherwise.  It is believed that I remained at my post bravely, without firing, whereas it was I who began the fusillade, and I did not retreat in the general alarm because bewildered.  What, then, shall I do?  Explain that I saw an enemy and fired?  They have all said that of themselves, yet none believes it.  Shall I tell a truth which, discrediting my courage, will have the effect of a lie?  Ugh! it is an ugly business altogether.  I wish to God I could find my man!”