Of course I did not tell him that I had killed Burker, though I should have liked to do so.  I felt I had no right to put him in the position of having to choose between denouncing me and condoning a murder—­compounding a felony.

Nor did I see any reason for confessing to the Police what I had done (even though Dolores was dead) and finishing my career on the scaffold.

One owes something to one’s ancestors as well as to oneself.  Well, perhaps it was a hallucination.  I would wait.

At the next drill Burker was present and rode as Number Three in Section Six.

As there were twenty-three (living) on parade I ordered Number Twenty-three to ride as Number Four of his section and leave a blank file.

Burker rode in that blank file and drilled so, throughout—­save that he would not dismount.

Once, as the troop rode in column of sections, I fell to the rear and, coming up behind, struck with all my might at that slightly nebulous figure, with its faint vagueness of outline and hint of transparency.

My heavy cutting-whip whistled—­and touched nothing.  I was as one who beats the air.  Section Six must have thought me mad....  Twice again the dead man drilled with the living, and each time I described what happened to Major Jackson.

“It is a persistent hallucination,” said he; “you must go on leave.”

“I won’t run from Burker, nor from a hallucination,” I replied.

Then came the end.

At the next drill, twenty-one gentlemen were present and Number Twenty-one, the Sessions Judge of Duri, a Scot, kept staring with looks of amazement and alarm at Burker, who rode as Number Four on his flank, making an odd file into a skeleton section.  I was certain that he saw Burker.

As the gentlemen “dismissed” after parade, the Judge rode up to me and, with a white face, demanded:—­

“Who the devil was that rode with me as Number Twenty-four?  It was—­it was—­like—­Sergeant Burker.”

“It was Sergeant Burker, Sir,” said I.

“I knew it was,” he replied, and added:  “Man, you and I are fey.”

“Will you tell Major Jackson of this, Sir?” I begged.  “He knows I have seen Burker’s ghost here before, and tells me it is a hallucination.”

“I’ll go and see him now.” he replied.  “He is an old friend of mine, and—­he’s a damned good doctor.  Man—­you and I are fey.”  He rode to where his trap, with its spirited cob, was awaiting him, dismounted and drove off.

As everybody knows, Mr. Blake of the Indian Civil Service, Sessions Judge of Duri, was thrown from his trap and killed.  It happened five minutes after he had said to me, with a queer look in his eyes, and a queer note in his voice, “Man! you and I are fey"....  So it is no hallucination and I am haunted by Burker’s ghost.  Very good.  I will fight Burker on his own ground.

My ghost shall haunt Burker’s ghost—­or I shall be at peace.