the Germans were
entering the wider valley.

"You have had a narrow escape," the surgeon said, after examining
Ralph's arm, "a quarter of an inch lower, and it would have cut the
main artery; and you would have bled to death in five minutes. As
it is, there is no great harm done. It is a deepish flesh wound
but, with your youth and constitution, it will heal up in a very
short time. I will draw the edges together, with a needle and
thread: put a few straps of plaster on, and a bandage; and then you
had better get into an ambulance wagon and go to the rear, at
once."

"Can't I go into the field again, now?" Ralph asked; "I feel as if
I could ride again, now."

"No, you can do nothing of the sort," the surgeon said. "You have
lost a lot of blood; and if you were to ride now, it might set off
the wound bleeding again, and you might be a dead man before you
could be brought back here. Keep quiet, and do as you are ordered,
and in a week you may be in the saddle again."

"It seems very hard," Ralph began.

"Not at all hard," the surgeon said. "You will see plenty more
fighting, before this war is over.

"This is a hard case, if you like; you have every reason to be
thankful."

As he spoke, he pointed to a young mobile who was brought in, his
chest literally torn open with a shell.

"I can do nothing for him," the surgeon said, after a brief
inspection of his wound; "he has not half an hour to live, and will
probably not recover consciousness. If he does, give him some weak
brandy, and water."

Wounded men were now being brought in fast, and Ralph went out and
sat down by the door.

"Fasten my horse up here, Tim. The ambulance will be full of poor
fellows who will want them more than I shall. If I see that we are
being driven back, I shall mount and ride quietly back.

"No, there is nothing more you can do for me. Go and join Percy."

The fight was now raging furiously. The Germans, covered by the
fire of their artillery, had debouched from the pass and were
steadily pressing forward. They had already carried the village
nearest to them. This the French had set fire to, before
retreating, to prevent its serving as a shelter for the enemy. The
Mobiles stood their ground, for the most part well, under the heavy
fire of shot and shell; but their muzzle loaders were no match for
the Germans' needle guns, and the enemy were pressing steadily
forward. Just as Tim Doyle rode up to the staff, the Germans had
taken