But the last bulletin was not cheering.
It promised additional names for a later edition. Besides, the War
Department might not be relied on for reports of non-combatants. A
newspaper correspondent was not enrolled as a soldier. His death might
remain unrecorded for days.
On a sudden impulse she started to enter the office and ask if he had
returned, stopped, blushed, turned and hurried home with a new fear
mingled with a strange joy beating in her heart.
CHAPTER X
THE AWAKENING
John Vaughan had secured a loose horse on emerging from his friendly
swamp. The shadows of night had given him the chance to escape. His
horse was fresh, the rain had begun to fall, the heat had abated and he
made good time.
He reached the office before midnight, took his seat at his desk, pale
and determined to tell the truth. He wrote an account of the battle and
the panic in which it had ended so vivid, so accurate, so terrible in
its confession of riot and dismay, the editor refused to print it.
"Why not?" John sternly demanded.
"It won't do."
"It's true!"
"Then the less said about it the better. Let's hush it up."
John smiled:
"I'm sorry. I would like to see that thing in type just as I saw and
felt and lived it. It's a good story and it's my last--it's a pity to
kill it----"
"Your last? What do you mean?" the chief broke in.
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