He must have fancied that he
had his kids before him for he was beating time with his hands and
snapping his fingers and thumbs and singing:
'London bridge is fallen down,
Fallen down, fallen down.'
"It was rotten to hear that out there, but I was halfway glad to see him
that way, knowing that he wasn't miserable. After a little, he quit
babbling and took more water; emptied the canteen, in fact, so back I
had to start for more.
"Returning, I found things changed. He was going around, crouched like a
hunting Indian, peering here and there, behind the idol then across to
the head as if seeking some one. He had the _facon_ in his hand. 'Rounds
stabbed me,' he was saying. 'It was Rounds, damn him, that killed me.'
Over and over again he said that. He was talking to invisible people,
creatures of his mad brain. One would have thought, if one had not seen,
that the temple court was crowded with spectators. Then he rose to his
feet and, with the knife held close to his breast, began walking round
and round as if seeking an outlet. He passed me once, he on one side of
the wall and I on the other, and he looked me square in the eye, but
never saw me. So round and round he went with long strides, knees bent
and heels never touching the ground. He eyes were fixed and staring and
his teeth clenched.
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