Lt. Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes was dying.

He sincerely hoped that it would not have to end like this, but it seemed like it would. He tried to lift his left arm, but the pain was too much. The handkerchief wrapped around his wound was soaked; it wasnt going to stop the bleeding. He had thought his company would have protected him. They were gone. Rutherfords only company now was a wounded soldier lying a few feet from him. A Confederate wasnt the best companion to shuffle off this mortal coil with, but it was better than shuffling alone. Boy! he yelled. Boy, Im afraid I wont be of this earth much longer. I dont see how that concerns me none, sir! Now is no time to keep up silly rivalries, boy, Rutherford called back. Youre the only one round here for miles that aint a corpse. You can take a message for me, I figure. Youll do. Sir, Id preciate it if you didnt make it sound like you were settling! Taint no better message carrier than me. Matter of fact, I -- Boy, I do not have time for a list of your credentials! Do you not understand the urgency of my situation? Rutherford attempted to gesticulate wildly. Unfortunately, his left arm was his gesticulating arm. He managed to flail lamely instead. Sir, may I ask why your arm is flopping bout like some kind of crazy fish? Dont you worry about my arm, boy. Worry about the message Im about to give you! Rutherford paused. He expected the soldier to interrupt him again. The Confederate soldier looked expectantly at Rutherford. To an outside observer with a rudimentary understanding of historical context, he would have looked like a eager, racist puppy. Rutherford cleared his throat for some dramatic effect. If he was going to die, he was going to do it right. Boy. My wife. Lucy. She needs to know that... Rutherford figured trailing off here would do rather nicely. It did. The Confederate soldier made a sympathetic noise. She needs to know that I love her. Tell her to take care of the boys. Little Birchard. Littler Webb. And even littler Rutherford Junior. Sir, I mean no offense, but those are some mighty strange names, the Confederate soldier lied. He really did mean offense. Your message is not to include any sort of sleights against my prestigious family names, boy! Im beginning to regret selecting you to carry my message, Rutherford lied back. He wasnt beginning to regret it, he had regretted it from the moment the boy had opened his mouth. As if on cue, the boy opened his mouth again. Taint no better message carrier than me, sir. Matter of fact, I-- This time it wasnt Rutherford who cut off the soldiers description of his accolades. It was a strange, glistening orb. The orb connected with the soldiers head, cracking the orb straight down the middle. Rutherford sighed to no one in particular. Clearly he was out of time. The death hallucinations had begun. It was, as they say, curtains for him. Out of the orb crawled a creature Rutherford had never seen before. It looked rather like the lizards he had seen sketched in a biology textbook. Rutherford didnt remember the sketch including wings. Then again, Rutherford didnt remember if it had been a sketch at all. Blood was flowing freely from his wound, which was toying with his ability to remember. The creature blinked several times. It cocked its head to the side, and thoroughly examined Rutherford. It nodded after the assessment, and hovered over to Rutherford. Rutherford didnt notice. He was far too engrossed in imagining all the things he was never going to do. A fleeting thought popped into his head -- he would never be President of the

United States. Not that Rutherford had much of an aspiration, it just seemed a good thing to have tried to do. No harm done, he decided. Someone else will do just as fine. As Rutherford took inventory of the other individuals more fit for the office, the creature had begun licking Rutherfords wounds. The blood began to disappear, and the gash began to shrink. Rutherfords wits were slowly returning to him as well. I dont care about your credentials, boy! The interruption, while untimely, shocked the Confederate soldier out of his daze. The soldier was preparing to retort, but when he opened his eyes, there was no one there to retort to. He looked wildly around for the injured man. He didnt see him. I still think Rutherford is a silly name, he murmured, easing his way off of the battlefield. If he had only wildly looked up instead of wildly looked around, he would have plainly seen Rutherford Birchard Hayes riding on a dragon.