with impatience. "Get away with your slops,
you bone-breaker!" he said; "but if you've got any brandy I'll have
it."

The hospital-orderly had none. "Well, what's the matter with you,
then?" he asked.

"Something's wrong with my pins," answered the driver, and pointed to
his leg.

"Is that it?" said the orderly. "You don't seem very bad on the whole.
But what's wrong with this one? I can't get him to come to," and he
pointed to the motionless form of Klitzing.

"Perhaps cold water would bring him round," said Sickel. "Down there to
the left there must be a stream. You can hear it running."

"Then I'll just go down there," returned the orderly. He laid the
bottle of cordial at Vogt's feet and climbed down through the
brushwood.

Vogt slowly raised his head and looked about him in surprise. The
draught had revived him wonderfully. Where was he? A horse was standing
near him bleeding from a gaping wound in the flank. Not far off lay one
of his comrades stretched out like a corpse, and pale as death, with
eyes closed and blood-stained froth on his lips. Why, it was Klitzing!
He clutched at his forehead, and all at once the curtain that had
clouded his memory parted. He realised what had happened after he
had seen the hoof coming in the direction of his skull. A dark body
had thrown itself between him and the glistening iron--and then the
blow had been struck. There had been a terrible, hollow sound, and
then--then that body had been hurled into the air.

Suddenly he understood it all: Klitzing had sacrificed himself for him,
his friend had saved him from the death-dealing blow of that iron-shod
hoof, and there he now lay upon the grass, pale, unconscious--perhaps
dead.

At this moment the unconscious man's eyelids opened at last with
difficulty, his dull gaze went searching round, then rested upon Vogt
with an expression of boundless devotion. Vogt darted to the clerk's
side, threw himself down, and took the pale face between his hands.

"Heinrich!" he cried. "My dear good Heinrich! What have you done for
me?"

Bright tears ran down his cheeks, and through his sobs he could only
stammer again and again: "Heinrich! my dear good fellow!"

Klitzing tried to speak. His lips moved slightly, but no word came from
them. A feeble hand was raised to his friend's shoulder, stroked it
languidly, then fell heavily back. Again the eyes closed and remained
shut, although Vogt went on earnestly begging and praying: "Heinri