us to my health and comfort."

"I see: you are the deserter."

"I am; but the future lies between you and me."

"Then we will let the future speak for itself," answered the officer,
drawing a pistol from his belt. "Surrender, or you are a dead man!"

"I must positively decline the honor," replied De Banyan, as he swung the
pitch-fork over his head, and attempted to strike him down.

He failed; and the officer fired, but without effect. At that moment,
Somers stepped forward with a billet of wood he found on the floor. At
the same time, De Banyan raised the pistol; but the rebel fired a second
time before he could discharge it. Somers instantly dropped his stick,
and his left arm fell to his side; the ball had passed through it. De
Banyan fired; the officer sank down, not killed, but badly wounded.

CHAPTER XXVIII

DR. SCOVILLE'S PATIENT

The ball from De Banyan's pistol had passed through the right side of the
officer; and he sank upon the floor, the blood flowing copiously from the
wound. These proceedings were so irregular, that Somers could not
reconcile himself to them. He was wounded himself; but, when the officer
fell, he was full of sympathy for him. It was evident that the sufferer
would bleed to death in a short time, if left to himself without any
attention; and Somers could not endure the thought of letting even an
enemy die in this forsaken condition.

"Come, my boy; we have no time to lose. It's daylight now, and we ought
to be five miles from the city before this time," said De Banyan, as he
moved towards the stairs. "Take the man's pistol and ammunition, and come
along as fast as you can."

"Will you leave this gentleman in this condition?" asked Somers, gazing
with pitying tenderness at the pale face of the fallen officer.

"Leave him? Of course; we can't take him with us."

"But he will bleed to death if we leave him here."

"Let him bleed to death; I can't help that. Many a better man than he has
bled to death since this war began. Come along, Somers! What is the
matter with your arm?" demanded he, when he saw that it hung useless at
his side.

"I was hit."

"Hit! We are lost, then!"

"No, we are not lost, either. I am not killed," replied Somers, whose arm
was still numb from the effect of the shot.

"That's a misfortune. I am afraid it will spoil everything. Can you sit
on a horse?"

"Of course I can. But I can't bear to let this man die here alone. He is
a brave fellow