"Not I, sir, but I believe they did--an' be damned to them!" And
Stern's eyes never left the opposite cliff, though his ears were
strained to catch the faintest sound from the lower cañon. It was
there they last had seen the troop. It was from that direction help
should come. "Watch them, but don't waste a shot, man. I must speak to
Carmody," said Blakely, under his breath, as he backed on hands and
knees, a painful process when one is sore wounded. Trembling,
whimpering like whipped child, the poor, spiritless lad sent to the
aid of the stricken and heroic, crouched by the sergeant's side,
vainly striving to pour water from a clumsy canteen between the
sufferer's pallid lips. Carmody presently sucked eagerly at the
cooling water, and even in his hour of dissolution seemed far the
stronger, sturdier of the two--seemed to feel so infinite a pity for
his shaken comrade. Bleeding internally, as was evident, transfixed by
the cruel shaft they did not dare attempt to withdraw, even if the
barbed steel would permit, and drooping fainter with each swift
moment, he was still conscious, still brave and uncomplaining. His
dimmed and mournful eyes looked up in mute appeal to his young
commander. He knew that he was going fast, and that whatever rescue
might come to these, his surviving fellow-soldiers, there would be
none for him; and yet in his supreme moment he seemed to read the
question on Blakely's lips, and his words, feeble and broken, were
framed to answer.
"Couldn't--you hear 'em, lieutenant?" he gasped. "I can't
be--mistaken. I know--the old--Springfield sure! I heard 'em way
off--south--a dozen shots," and then a spasm of agony choked him, and
he turned, writhing, to hide the anguish on his face. Blakely grasped
the dying soldier's hand, already cold and limp and nerveless, and
then his own voice seemed, too, to break and falter.
"Don't try to talk, Carmody; don't try! Of course you are right. It
must be some of our people. They'll reach us soon. Then we'll have the
doctor and can help you. Those saddle-bags!" he said, turning sharply
to the whimpering creature kneeling by them, and the lad drew hand
across his streaming eyes and passed the worn leather pouches. From
one of them Blakely drew forth a flask, poured some brandy into its
cup and held it to the soldier's lips. Carmody swallowed almost
eagerly. He seemed to crave a little longer lease of life. There was
something tugging at his heartstrings, and presently he turned slowly,
painfully again. "Lieutenant," he gasped, "I'm not scared to die--this
way anyhow. There's no one to care--but the boys--but there's one
thing"--and now the stimulant seemed to reach the failing heart and
give him faint, fluttering strength--"there's one thing I ought--I
ought to tell. You've been solid with the boys--you're square, and I'm
not--I haven't always been. Lieutenant--I was on guard--the night of
the fire--and Elise, you know--the French girl--she--she's got most
all I saved--most all I--won, but she was trickin' me--all the time,
lieutenant--me and Downs that's gone--and others. She didn't care.
You--you aint the only one I--I--"