meat. But really, I don't think you ought to eat
anything before the Surgeon sees you. Mebbe it won't be good for you."

"I'll chance it," said Alf desperately, reaching for the cup of coffee.
"I'm sure it'll be better for me to eat something."

"Le's go down and see the Surgeon," insisted Si.

"No," protested Alf, "it ain't hurting me much now, and he's awful busy
with other men, so we hadn't better interrupt him."

"The Surgeon ought to see you at once, Alf," interjected Shorty. "Here
comes one of 'em now. Doctor, will you please look at this boy."

"Certainly," said the Surgeon, stopping on his way. "I guess I can spare
a minute. Take off that bandage, my boy."

"Don't mind me. Doctor," said Alf. "'Taint hurting me now, at all,
scarcely. I did it up very carefully."

"Take off the bandage at once, I tell you," said the Surgeon
imperatively. "I haven't any time to waste. Let me see your wound."

Alf set down his cup of coffee, and began laboriously unwinding the long
bandage, while the rest stood around in anxious expectation. Yards of
folds came off from around his forehead and chin, and then he reached
that around his nose and the back of his head. Still the ghastly edges
of the terrible wound did not develop. Finally the blood-soaked last
layer came off, and revealed where a bullet had made a shallow but
ugly-looking furrow across the cheek and made a nick in the ear.

"Alf, that rebel come dumbed nigh missin' you," said the greatly
relieved Si.

"If you should happen to ketch cold in that it wouldn't git well for a
week," added Shorty.

"Give me that bandage," said the Surgeon just before he hurried away.
"Take this sticking-plaster and draw the lips of the wound together, and
if you keep the dirt out it may heal without a scar."

CHAPTER XVIII. AN ARTILLERY DUEL

AND A "DEMONSTRATION" ON THE ENEMY'S POSITION.

"RUSSELL, that ain't going to heal without a A scar," Alf Russell
consoled himself, as he studied his hurt with a little round pocket
looking-glass, a screen of bushes concealing him from his unappreciative
comrades. "It's more than Monty Scruggs nor Harry Joslyn nor Sandy
Baker'll have to show for the fight. It's even more than Gid Mackall
has, even though he is knocked out. I ought to be sent to the hospital,
too. It'll be something to write home to father and mother, and they'll
put it in the paper and the folks'll talk about it. Gracious, there's a
bugle blowing again. Wonder what th