“Could it be a man, Clarence?”

“No, I think not.

If you notice, it looks a lit — why, it is a man! — leaning on the fence.”

“I certainly believe it is; let us go and see.”

We crept along on our hands and knees until we were pretty close, and then looked up. Yes, it was a man — a dim great figure in armor, standing erect, with both hands on the upper wire — and, of course, there was a smell of burning flesh. Poor fellow, dead as a door-nail, and never knew what hurt him. He stood there like a statue — no motion about him, except that his plumes swished about a little in the night wind. We rose up and looked in through the bars of his visor, but couldn’t make out whether we knew him or not —