Short Stories

[afsane b]

ECHO & NARCISSUS BY
THOMAS BULLFINCH

Echo was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she devoted herself to woodland sports. She was a favourite of Diana, and attended her in the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and whether in chat or argument, would have the last word. One day Juno was seeking her husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed sentence upon Echo in these words: "You shall forfeit the use of that tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one purpose you are so fond of- reply. You shall still have the last word, but no power to speak first."
This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the chase upon the mountains. She loved him and followed his footsteps. O how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him to converse! but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth, being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, "Who's here?" Echo replied, "Here." Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out, "Come." Echo answered, "Come." As no one came, Narcissus called again, "Why do you shun me?" Echo asked the same question. "Let us join one another," said the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, "Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me!" "Have me," said she; but it was all in vain. He left her, and she went to hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last word.
Narcissus's cruelty in this case was not the only instance. He shunned all the rest of the nymphs, as he had done poor Echo. One day a maiden who had in vain endeavored to attract him uttered a prayer that he might some time or other feel what it was to love and meet no return of affection. The avenging goddess heard and granted the prayer.
There was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which the shepherds never drove their flocks, nor the mountain goats resorted, nor any of the beasts of the forests; neither was it defaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh around it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came one day the youth, fatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty. He stooped down to drink, and saw his own image in the water; he thought it was some beautiful water-spirit living in the fountain. He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes, those locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or Apollo, the rounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of health and exercise over all. He fell in love with himself. He brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to embrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned again after a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not tear himself away; he lost all thought of food or rest. while he hovered over the brink of the fountain gazing upon his own image. He talked with the supposed spirit: "Why, beautiful being, do you shun me? Surely my face is not one to repel you. The nymphs love me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon me. When I stretch forth my arms you do the same; and you smile upon me and answer my beckonings with the like." His tears fell into the water and disturbed the image. As he saw it depart, he exclaimed, "Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you, if I may not touch you." With this, and much more of the same kind, he cherished the flame that consumed him, so that by degrees be lost his colour, his vigour, and the beauty which formerly had so charmed the nymph Echo.

She kept near him, however, and when he exclaimed, "Alas! alas!" she answered him with the same words. He pined away and died; and when his shade passed the Stygian river, it leaned over the boat to catch a look of itself in the waters. The nymphs mourned for him, especially the water-nymphs; and when they smote their breasts Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral pile and would have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found; but in its place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with white leaves, which bears the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.

[afsane b]

David and Bathsheba
David was a good king and made sure his people were treated right fairly. Since he would not get to build the temple for God himself, he began to gather materials for the time when his son would build it. David was famous with the people because of the victories God gave him over their enemies. These wars were not just fought for glory, though. God was using his people to punish those who had turned away from him to worship idols. Finally the nations nearby were conquered; Israel included all the land God had promised to Abraham. During one of the wars, however, David stayed behind in Jerusalem when his soldiers went off to fight. It was at this time that David fell into grievous sin, which would haunt him for the rest of his life.
As David walked on the roof of his house one evening, he saw a beautiful woman taking a bath. Someone told him she was Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, a Hittite soldier off fighting with David’s army. David should have put Bathsheba out of his mind when he heard she was married, but he didn’t. Instead he had her brought to the palace and sinned with her there. Sometime later Bathsheba sent David word she was going to have his baby.
David the king over all Israel had committed adultery with one of his soldiers’ wives and now there was going to be a child! Desperately he tried to think of a way to cover his sin. Finally David had a plan; he would bring Uriah home from the battlefront and let him visit his wife. Then everyone would think he was the baby’s father.
But David’s plan didn’t work. Uriah came back to Jerusalem, but he wouldn’t go down to his house, not even after David got him drunk. He slept with the king’s servants instead. He wouldn’t let himself enjoy being home with his wife while the other soldiers were having a hard time on the battlefield.
What could David do now? Soon Uriah would hear Bathsheba was going to have a baby, a baby that was not his. He must never know that David was its father!
David did a terrible thing. He wrote to Joab, the leader of his army, commanding him, “Set Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retreat from him, that he may be struck down and die.” Then he had Uriah take the letter back with him.
Was David actually trying to get Uriah killed? Yes, he was! And that was just what happened. When David heard Uriah was dead he told Joab not to feel guilty. “The sword devours one as well as another.” David said, just as if Uriah’s death had been an ordinary casualty of war.
After about a year God sent Nathan the prophet to talk with David. He had been a wise judge over his people so Nathan told a parable that would let the king himself judge. In the parable there was a rich man with many sheep and a poor man with only one little lamb. This little lamb was so special to the poor man that he treated it like his own child. This rich man did an awful thing. One day a traveler came by and he killed the poor man’s little lamb to feed the visitor. When David heard what the rich man had done, his anger was hot. “As the Lord lives, the man who has done this shall die!” he declared indignantly, not knowing he was talking about himself!
“You are the man,” Nathan told the king. Then he delivered God’s message. “I anointed you king over Israel, and I delivered you from the hand of Saul. I gave you the house of Israel and Judah. And if that had not been too little, I also would have given you much more,” God said. Yet David had broken God’s law and had done evil in his sight. Not only had he killed Uriah with the sword, he had taken his wife for himself.
As punishment Nathan said David’s family would have trouble for the rest of his life. “I have sinned against the Lord,” David confessed and God saw he has repented. But sad consequences would still follow

[seymour]

the above post is one of my favorite biblical stories

[babak2002]

On Friday afternoon a judge sentenced lawyer Mickey Mantle to 24 hours in jail for contempt. Mantle had just won a lawsuit against a man who had struck Mantle’s client. The client had accidentally spilled a diet soda onto the defendant’s new sneakers, so he broke the client’s jaw. The judge sentenced the defendant to two years in jail for assault and battery. But after handcuffing the defendant, the sheriff’s deputy also handcuffed Mantle. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?” Mantle shouted.

“Sorry. Judge’s orders,” replied the deputy, as he escorted Mantle and the defendant out of the courtroom. “She said to throw you in jail overnight for contempt of court.” Because the judge had already left the courtroom, Mantle had no one to protest to.

Mantle and the convicted man were put in the back of the same van and driven five miles to the city jail. When they were taken out of the van, Mantle had a black eye and a bloody nose. He told the deputy that the defendant had head-butted him. The defendant called Mantle a liar. He told the deputy that Mantle had gone flying when the van made a sharp turn and banged his face on the defendant’s knee.

The deputy took Mantle to the jail emergency room. Mantle couldn’t believe what was going on. He was a respected lawyer about to spend the night in jail with violent criminals, some of whom he’d helped to convict. He’d be lucky to get out alive. And all because of a stupid cup of coffee.

Mantle was in jail because he had displeased Judge Brown. Brown had asked Mantle to bring her a caffe latte from Moonbucks on Mantle’s way back from lunch. Mantle had had previous run-ins with Brown. He didn’t like Brown, and refused to be her errand boy. When Mantle returned from lunch, she asked him where her coffee was. Mantle said, “They ran out. They said to come back tomorrow.”

[babak2002]

It was 10 p.m. Fritz said good night to his wife. She was watching TV. He went to bed. Tomorrow was a big day. It was his last day of work. Thirty years with the federal government. Thirty years of flying out of town for weeks on end. Thirty years of interviews, meetings, and heavy briefcases. Tomorrow it would all be over. Not that he didn’t like it. He had enjoyed his career.

Fritz felt blessed. His father had had a tough life as an unskilled laborer. Whenever Fritz was a bit discouraged or upset, he thought about his overworked and underpaid father. He thanked God for his own good life, and for the fact that he had been able to make his dad’s last years comfortable.

His two children were married and had their own careers. His wife Paige kept busy with, among other things, her bridge club. She had tried to get him interested in bridge, but without success. Fritz was content with his own Friday night poker group.

Friday morning, he went to work for the very last time. Those who knew him well would miss him. Fritz was a genuinely nice guy. He never had a bad word to say about anyone. Some people might have thought he was a little dull, but he was intelligent, a hard worker, and a team player. He had taken only three weeks of sick leave in 30 years.

A small group took him out to lunch. When he returned from lunch, the whole office gathered around for cake, ice cream, a farewell card, and a few short speeches. They presented him with various going-away gifts, including a big, paperback US atlas. It listed all the motels, campgrounds, national parks, tourist spots, and other information to help guide a leisurely traveler throughout the good old USA. He had told his friends that he and Paige were going to spend a couple of years visiting all the places that he never had gotten to explore while there on business. As a final gift, his supervisor told him to take the rest of the day off.

Paige’s car wasn’t in the driveway when he got home. She was probably shopping for some traveling clothes. Maybe she was out arranging a dinner at a restaurant that evening for just the two of them. That would be nice.

But something was wrong. When he hung up his jacket, he saw that the bedroom closet was half empty. Paige’s clothes were gone. Her shoes were not on the closet floor. Confused, he looked around the bedroom.

He saw an envelope on the lamp stand. Inside it were two pieces of paper. One notified him of a divorce proceeding. The other was a hand-written note from Paige. “I’m so sorry,” it began. She said that her lawyer had told her to wait until today. If she had sought divorce a year earlier, like her boyfriend had suggested, she would not have been able to qualify for 50 percent of Fritz’s pension. She hoped that he would find it in his heart to forgive her. She felt terrible about this, she wrote, because “you’ve been so good to me. But I can’t ignore my own heart.”

Fritz sat immobile on the edge of the bed. Her note was in his hand; her words were burning in his brain.

Maybe an hour later, the phone rang. He picked it up on the fifth ring. It was Bob, wondering if Fritz was going to play poker later that night

[babak2002]

Adrian’s favorite store was the $1 Store. This store had everything, from fresh produce to birthday cards to gasoline additives. Everything was one dollar. Usually, he got very good deals; occasionally, he got ripped off.

A few days ago, Adrian bought six packages of ink for his printer. Then he found a deal on better ink at the local computer store. So Adrian went back to the $1 Store to exchange the ink for some other items.

He put the ink into a plastic bag and tied it up. When he entered the store, he immediately showed the bag to a clerk and told her that he was returning some items. She looked at him but said nothing. There were about ten people in her line. She was obviously very busy. Not knowing exactly what to do, Adrian put the bag into a push-cart and started shopping.

He was midway through shopping when a female employee suddenly stopped him. “Sir,” she said sternly, “you are not allowed to carry a plastic bag of items around in this store. What’s in this bag? Show me what’s in the bag!”

Adrian was taken aback. There was no need for her to yell. He opened the bag and showed her the six packages of ink. “I’m returning these to exchange for some other items,” Adrian said.

“You should have left the bag with the clerk when you entered this store. Let me see your receipt!” the employee demanded.

Adrian was embarrassed. He felt like a shoplifter. He looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. He showed her the receipt.

“Perhaps in the future you’ll learn how to follow store policy. Leave this bag here with the clerk. You can have your receipt and bag back when you check out.”

By the time Adrian had finished shopping and exchanged the items, he was angry. How dare she treat him like a criminal? He went looking for her. He wanted an apology. He found her in the produce section and asked what her name was. She mumbled something. He asked her again, and this time he heard “Ursula.”

“Ursula what?” he asked. She yelled at him, “Ursula!” and stormed away.

When Adrian got home, he called the store’s corporate headquarters. This rude employee was about to lose her job, he said to himself. He described his unpleasant experience to a customer service representative. She was sympathetic. “Our employees are taught to be polite. We will not tolerate such behavior. Give me your phone number and I will call you back.”

Two days later, Adrian received a phone call from the representative. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but there’s no one at that store named Ursula. Can you describe her? I’ll find out who she is. I assure you, we do not tolerate rude behavior, nor do we tolerate lying to customers.”

By this time, Adrian had calmed down. He didn’t really want the employee to lose her job. He told the representative to forget about it.

[babak2002]

Maria and Lisa were best friends. They shared a two-bedroom apartment in Hollywood. Maria was a clerk at a clothing store, and Lisa was a clerk at a supermarket. Their hours varied, so they didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time together. But last weekend both were off work. “Let’s go to the beach,” suggested Maria.

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Lisa. “Which one?”

“Well, I would prefer an uncrowded beach, because I think I’ve put on a few pounds recently. I don’t want any boys seeing my fat.”

“Oh, please,” said Lisa. “You eat so little. Ounces don’t turn into pounds. How about Zuma Beach? That’s pretty far north of Santa Monica Beach, so it’s just right—not too crowded and not too empty.”

“That sounds good,” said Maria.

The drive to the beach took more than an hour. When they got there, the hot and sunny Hollywood weather had become cool, windy, and overcast beach weather. Both of them had been to the beach many times before, so they were not surprised by the change in weather. They put on their jackets, shoes, and socks, and headed north to hunt for seashells.

Within an hour they had collected about 20 beautiful shells into a plastic bag. They were still walking slowly north when they heard a roar. They turned around to see a four-wheel All Terrain Vehicle coming rapidly toward them. The driver braked at the last moment. Sand flew onto the two girls. They both screamed.

The driver was wearing a jacket that said Beach Patrol. He got off the ATV and started yelling at them. “What are you two doing here? Can’t you read? The signs say Private Property. They say No Trespassing. Get out of here before I write you a ticket and have you arrested.”

“What’s your name?” Maria stood defiantly. “I’m going to report you to the police. You’re not a real patrol officer. This is a public beach. Those signs are phony signs put up by homeowners who think they own the beach.”

“My name is John Smith. Report me to whoever you want. Now get out of here or you’ll be sorry.”

“You can’t make us leave. This is a public beach!” yelled Maria.

The man got back onto his ATV and started driving in circles around the women. The ATV was spraying sand and water all over them. He was laughing. They started running back south. When the ATV driver saw that they were leaving, he drove off.

“John Smith. A phony name to go with a phony uniform,” said Maria when they slowed down to a walk. “We’re going to the police station and make a complaint. I hope they put him in jail.”

A few minutes later, Lisa asked, “Where are the shells?”

“Oh, gee, in all the excitement I left them back there. I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” replied Lisa. “There’s plenty of seashells in the sea.”

“Yeah, just like there’s plenty of jerks on the shore.”

[babak2002]

Travis and Paul were best friends and in the ninth grade. They didn’t like anything about school except the girls and the baseball. They were both on the junior high baseball team. Both wanted to be major league baseball players when they grew up.

On Thursday, baseball practice lasted for two hours after school. After practice, Travis and Paul were hungry and thirsty. Between them, they had $2.05. There was a small grocery store three blocks from the school.

“What can we buy for only $2?” asked Travis.

“We could split a soda and a candy bar,” replied Paul.

“That’s going to be hard to do, since I like orange soda and you like root beer,” said Travis. “And I hate peanuts in candy bars and you love them,” said Paul.

As they approached the store, they were still thinking about their problem. One solution, of course, was for one of them to pick the soda and the other to pick the candy bar. The problem with that solution would be that one of them would still be thirsty and the other would still be hungry.

“Wait a minute,” said Paul. “I’ve got an idea.” They stopped, and Paul told Travis his idea.

Mr. Cobb was the store owner. He had no use for kids. They were little people with little money. His eyes narrowed as he saw the boys approaching the store.

After they entered the store, Travis walked over to the big cooler that was filled with ice and sodas. Paul walked over to the candy bar section.

“Mr. Cobb, you don’t have any orange soda,” Travis said.

“Yes, I do. Just dig a little. You’ll find one.”

Travis dug for a minute.

“I still can’t find one.”

“Are you blind? I’ll be right there.”

Mr. Cobb started digging through the ice. Paul immediately put two candy bars into his trousers’ baggy pockets. He patted the pockets down a little bit.

“Look! Orange soda! What did I tell you?”

“Thank you, sir,” Travis said.

As Travis was paying for the orange soda and the root beer, Mr. Cobb looked at Paul.

“You’re not buying anything?”

“No, sir. We just wanted some sodas.”

“Then why were you looking at the candy bars?”

“Just to see if you got any new brands, sir.” Mr. Cobb’s narrow eyes got narrower as they moved slowly from Paul’s eyes to his shirt, to his pants, and to his shoes.

“If I ever catch you stealing from me, I’ll chop off your hands, you hear me?” For emphasis, Mr. Cobb reached down beneath the countertop and pulled out a butcher knife, sharp and shiny.

Both boys were startled. They ran out of the store.

“Come back here. You forgot your change!” Mr. Cobb yelled at them.

[محمد88]

It was raining as I got off the train in Nashville, Tennessee -- a slow, gray rain. I was tired so I went straight to my hotel.

A big, heavy man was walking up and down in the hotel lobby. Something about the way he moved made me think of a hungry dog looking for a bone. He had a big, fat, red face and a sleepy expression in his eyes. He introduced himself as Wentworth Caswell -- Major Wentworth Caswell -- from "a fine southern family." Caswell pulled me into the hotel's barroom and yelled for a waiter. We ordered drinks. While we drank, he talked continually about himself, his family, his wife and her family. He said his wife was rich. He showed me a handful of silver coins that he pulled from his coat pocket.
By this time, I had decided that I wanted no more of him. I said good night.
I went up to my room and looked out the window. It was ten o'clock but the town was silent. "A nice quiet place," I said to myself as I got ready for bed. Just an ordinary, sleepy southern town."
I was born in the south myself. But I live in New York now. I write for a large magazine. My boss had asked me to go to Nashville. The magazine had received some stories and poems from a writer in Nashville, named Azalea Adair. The editor liked her work very much. The publisher asked me to get her to sign an agreement to write only for his magazine.
I left the hotel at nine o'clock the next morning to find Miss Adair. It was still raining. As soon as I stepped outside I met Uncle Caesar. He was a big, old black man with fuzzy gray hair.
Uncle Caesar was wearing the strangest coat I had ever seen. It must have been a military officer's coat. It was very long and when it was new it had been gray. But now rain, sun and age had made it a rainbow of colors. Only one of the buttons was left. It was yellow and as big as a fifty cent coin.
Uncle Caesar stood near a horse and carriage. He opened the carriage door and said softly, "Step right in, sir. I'll take you anywhere in the city."
"I want to go to eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street," I said, and I started to climb into the carriage. But the old man stopped me. "Why do you want to go there, sir? "
"What business is it of yours?" I said angrily. Uncle Caesar relaxed and smiled. "Nothing, sir. But it's a lonely part of town. Just step in and I'll take you there right away."
Eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street had been a fine house once, but now it was old and dying. I got out of the carriage.
"That will be two dollars, sir," Uncle Caesar said. I gave him two one-dollar bills. As I handed them to him, I noticed that one had been torn in half and fixed with a piece of blue paper. Also, the upper right hand corner was missing.
Azalea Adair herself opened the door when I knocked. She was about fifty years old. Her white hair was pulled back from her small, tired face. She wore a pale yellow dress. It was old, but very clean.
Azalea Adair led me into her living room. A damaged table, three chairs and an old red sofa were in the center of the floor.
Azalea Adair and I sat down at the table and began to talk. I told her about the magazine's offer and she told me about herself. She was from an old southern family. Her father had been a judge.
Azalea Adair told me she had never traveled or even attended school. Her parents taught her at home with private teachers. We finished our meeting. I promised to return with the agreement the next day, and rose to leave.
At that moment, someone knocked at the back door. Azalea Adair whispered a soft apology and went to answer the caller. She came back a minute later with bright eyes and pink cheeks. She looked ten years younger. "You must have a cup of tea before you go," she said. She shook a little bell on the table, and a small black girl about twelve years old ran into the room.
Azalea Aair opened a tiny old purse and took out a dollar bill. It had been fixed with a piece of blue paper and the upper right hand corner was missing. It was the dollar I had given to Uncle Caesar. "Go to Mister Baker's store, Impy," she said, "and get me twenty-five cents' worth of tea and ten cents' worth of sugar cakes. And please hurry."
The child ran out of the room. We heard the back door close. Then the girl screamed. Her cry mixed with a man's angry voice. Azalea Adair stood up. Her face showed no emotion as she left the room. I heard the man's rough voice and her gentle one. Then a door slammed and she came back into the room.
"I am sorry, but I won't be able to offer you any tea after all," she said. "It seems that Mister Baker has no more tea. Perhaps he will find some for our visit tomorrow."
We said good-bye. I went back to my hotel.
Just before dinner, Major Wentworth Caswell found me. It was impossible to avoid him. He insisted on buying me a drink and pulled two one-dollar bills from his pocket. Again I saw a torn dollar fixed with blue paper, with a corner missing. It was the one I gave Uncle Caesar. How strange, I thought. I wondered how Caswell got it.
Uncle Caesar was waiting outside the hotel the next afternoon. He took me to Miss Adair's house and agreed to wait there until we had finished our business.
Azalea Adair did not look well. I explained the agreement to her. She signed it. Then, as she started to rise from the table, Azalea Adair fainted and fell to the floor. I picked her up and carried her to the old red sofa. I ran to the door and yelled to Uncle Caesar for help. He ran down the street. Five minutes later, he was back with a doctor.
The doctor examined Miss Adair and turned to the old black driver. "Uncle Caesar," he said, "run to my house and ask my wife for some milk and some eggs. Hurry!"
Then the doctor turned to me. "She does not get enough to eat," he said. "She has many friends who want to help her, but she is proud. Misses Caswell will accept help only from that old black man. He was once her family's slave."
"Misses Caswell." I said in surprise. "I thought she was Azalea Adair."
"She was," the doctor answered, "until she married Wentworth Caswell twenty years ago. But he's a hopeless drunk who takes even the small amount of money that Uncle Caesar gives her."
After the doctor left I heard Caesar's voice in the other room. "Did he take all the money I gave you yesterday, Miss Azalea?" "Yes, Caesar," I heard her answer softly. "He took both dollars."
I went into the room and gave Azalea Adair fifty dollars. I told her it was from the magazine. Then Uncle Caesar drove me back to the hotel.
A few hours later, I went out for a walk before dinner. A crowd of people were talking excitedly in front of a store. I pushed my way into the store. Major Caswell was lying on the floor. He was dead.
Someone had found his body on the street. He had been killed in a fight. In fact, his hands were still closed into tight fists. But as I stood near his body, Caswell's right hand opened. Something fell from it and rolled near my feet. I put my foot on it, then picked it up and put it in my pocket.
People said they believed a thief had killed him. They said Caswell had been showing everyone that he had fifty dollars. But when he was found, he had no money on him.

I left Nashville the next morning. As the train crossed a river I took out of my pocket the object that had dropped from Caswell's dead hand. I threw it into the river below.

It was a button. A yellow button...the one from Uncle Caesar's coat.


(O. Henry)

[محمد88]

A Horseman in the Sky

Carter Druse was born in Virginia. He loved his parents, his home and the south. But he loved his country, too. And in the autumn of eighteen sixty-one, when the United States was divided by a terrible civil war, Carter Druse, a southerner, decided to join the Union Army of the north.
He told his father about his decision one morning at breakfast.
The older man looked at his only son for a moment, too shocked to speak. Then he said, "As of this moment you are a traitor to the south. Please don't tell your mother about your decision. She is sick, and we both know she has only a few weeks to live."
Carter's father paused, again looking deep into his son's eyes. "Carter," he said, "No matter what happens -- be sure you always do what you think is your duty."
Both Carter Druse and his father left the table that morning with broken hearts. And Carter soon left his home, and everyone he loved to wear the blue uniform of the Union soldier.
One sunny afternoon, a few weeks later, Carter Druse lay with his face in the dirt by the side of a road. He was on his stomach, his arms still holding his gun. Carter would not receive a medal for his actions. In fact, if his commanding officer were to see him, he would order Carter shot immediately.
For Carter was not dead or wounded. He was sleeping while on duty. Fortunately, no one could see him. He was hidden by some bushes, growing by the side of the road.
The road Carter Druse had been sent to guard was only a few miles from his father's house.
It began in a forest, down in the valley, and climbed up the side of a huge rock. Anyone standing on the top of this high rock would be able to see down into the valley. And that person would feel very dizzy, looking down. If he dropped a stone from the edge of this cliff, it would fall for six hundred meters before disappearing into the forest in the valley below.
Giant cliffs, like the one Carter lay on, surrounded the valley.
Hidden in the valley's forest were five union regiments -- thousands of Carter's fellow soldiers. They had marched for thirty-six hours. Now they were resting. But at midnight they would climb that road up the rocky cliff.
Their plan was to attack by surprise an army of southerners, camped on the other side of the cliff. But if their enemy learned about the Union Army hiding in the forest, the soldiers would find themselves in a trap with no escape. That was why Carter Druse had been sent to guard the road.
It was his duty to be sure that no enemy soldier, dressed in gray, spied on the valley, where the union army was hiding.
But Carter Druse had fallen asleep. Suddenly, as if a messenger of fate came to touch him on the shoulder, the young man opened his eyes. As he lifted his head, he saw a man on horseback standing on the huge rocky cliff that looked down into the valley.
The rider and his horse stood so still that they seemed made of stone. The man's gray uniform blended with the blue sky and the white clouds behind him. He held a gun in his right hand, and the horse's reins in the other.
Carter could not see the man's face, because the rider was looking down into the valley. But the man and his horse seemed to be of heroic, almost gigantic size, standing there motionless against the sky. Carter discovered he was very much afraid, even though he knew the enemy soldier could not see him hiding in the bushes.
Suddenly the horse moved, pulling back its head from the edge of the cliff. Carter was completely awake now. He raised his gun, pushing its barrel through the bushes. And he aimed for the horseman's heart. A small squeeze of the trigger, and Carter Druse would have done his duty.
At that instant, the horseman turned his head and looked in Carter's direction. He seemed to look at Carter's face, into his eyes, and deep into his brave, generous heart.
Carter's face became very white. His entire body began shaking. His mind began to race, and in his fantasy, the horse and rider became black figures, rising and falling in slow circles against a fiery red sky.
Carter did not pull the trigger. Instead, he let go of his gun and slowly dropped his face until it rested again in the dirt.
Brave and strong as he was, Carter almost fainted from the shock of what he had seen.
Is it so terrible to kill an enemy who might kill you and your friends? Carter knew that this man must be shot from ambush -- without warning. This man must die without a moment to prepare his soul; without even the chance to say a silent prayer.
Slowly, a hope began to form in Carter Druse's mind. Perhaps the southern soldier had not seen the northern troops.
Perhaps he was only admiring the view. Perhaps he would now turn and ride carelessly away.
Then Carter looked down into the valley so far below. He saw a line of men in blue uniforms and their horses, slowly leaving the protection of the forest. A foolish Union officer had permitted his soldiers to bring their horses to drink at a small stream near the forest. And there they were -- in plain sight!
Carter Druse looked back to the man and horse standing there against the sky. Again he took aim. But this time he pointed his gun at the horse. Words rang in his head -- the last words his father ever spoke to him: "No matter what happens, be sure you always do what you think is your duty."
Carter Druse was calm as he pulled the trigger of his gun.
At that moment, a Union officer happened to look up from his hiding place near the edge of the forest. His eyes climbed to the top of the cliff that looked over the valley. Just looking at the top of the gigantic rock, so far above him, made the soldier feel dizzy.
And then the officer saw something that filled his heart with horror. A man on a horse was riding down into the valley through the air!
The rider sat straight in his saddle. His hair streamed back, waving in the wind. His left hand held his horse's reins while his right hand was hidden in the cloud of the horse's mane. The horse looked as if it were galloping across the earth. Its body was proud and noble.
As the frightened Union officer watched this horseman in the sky, he almost believed he was witnessing a messenger from heaven. A messenger who had come to announce the end of the world. The officer's legs grew weak, and he fell. At almost the same instant, he heard a crashing sound in the trees. The sound died without an echo. And all was silent.
The officer got to his feet, still shaking. He went back to his camp. But he didn't tell anyone what he had seen. He knew no one would ever believe him.
Soon after firing his gun, Carter Druse was joined by a Union sergeant. Carter did not turn his head as the sergeant kneeled beside him.
"Did you fire?" The sergeant whispered.
"Yes."
"At what?"
"A horse. It was on that rock. It's not there now. It went over the cliff." Carter's face was white. But he showed no other sign of emotion. The sergeant did not understand.
"See here, Druse," he said, after a moment's silence. "Why are you making this into a mystery. I order you to report. Was there anyone on the horse?"
"Yes."
"Who? "
"My father."

Ambrose Bierce