But when he could raise his head, the column had gone. He felt fantastic. They couldn’t escape like this. You had to escape like a drawing in Harper’s Weekly With stiff little men on horses like sickle-pears Firing round frozen cream-puffs into your back. But they had escaped. Life came back to him in a huge Wave of burnt stars. He wanted to sing and yell. He crackled out of the ditch and stood beside Bailey. Had he ever hated Bailey? It could not have been. He loved Bailey better than anything else in the world.