"Where did they hit you, sir?"
"Through the liver," he gasped. "It's all right, Berkley. . . .
Don't wait any longer-----"
"I'm not going to leave you."
"You must . . . I'm ended. . . . You haven't a--moment--to
lose----"
"Can you put your arms around my neck?"
"There's no time to waste! I tell you to mount and run for
it! . . . And--thank you----"
"Put both arms around my neck. . . . Quick! . . . Can you lock
your fingers? . . . This damned horse won't stand! Hold fast to
me. I'll raise you easily. . . . Get the other leg over the
saddle. Lean forward. Now I'll walk him at first--hold
tight! . . . Can you hang on, Colonel?"
"Yes--_my son_"
A wild thrill ran through the boy's veins, stopping breath and
pulse for a second. Then the hot blood rushed stinging into his
face; he threw one arm around the drooping figure in the saddle,
and, controlling the bridle with a grip of steel, started the horse
off across the field.
All around them the dry soil was bursting into little dusty
fountains where the bullets were striking; ahead, dark smoke hung
heavily. Farther on some blue-capped soldiers shouted to them from
their shallow rifle pits.
Farther on still they passed an entire battalion of regular
infantry, calmly seated on the grass in line of battle; and behind
these troops Berkley saw a stretcher on the grass and two men of
the hospital corps squatted beside it, chewing grass stems.
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