ther, "by ginger, I'm glad t' see yeh!
I give yeh up fer a goner. I thought yeh was dead sure enough." There
was husky emotion in his voice.

The youth found that now he could barely stand upon his feet. There
was a sudden sinking of his forces. He thought he must hasten to
produce his tale to protect him from the missiles already on the lips
of his redoubtable comrades. So, staggering before the loud soldier,
he began: "Yes, yes. I've--I've had an awful time. I've been all
over. Way over on th' right. Ter'ble fightin' over there. I had an
awful time. I got separated from the reg'ment. Over on th' right, I
got shot. In th' head. I never see sech fightin'. Awful time. I
don't see how I could a' got separated from th' reg'ment. I got shot,
too."

His friend had stepped forward quickly. "What? Got shot? Why didn't
yeh say so first? Poor ol' boy, we must--hol' on a minnit; what am I
doin'. I'll call Simpson."

Another figure at that moment loomed in the gloom. They could see that
it was the corporal. "Who yeh talkin' to, Wilson?" he demanded. His
voice was anger-toned. "Who yeh talkin' to? Yeh th' derndest
sentinel--why--hello, Henry, you here? Why, I thought you was dead
four hours ago! Great Jerusalem, they keep turnin' up every ten
minutes or so! We thought we'd lost forty-two men by straight count,
but if they keep on a-comin' this way, we'll git th' comp'ny all back
by mornin' yit. Where was yeh?"

"Over on th' right. I got separated"--began the youth with
considerable glibness.

But his friend had interrupted hastily. "Yes, an' he got shot in th'
head an' he's in a fix, an' we must see t' him right away." He rested
his rifle in the hollow of his left arm and his right around the
youth's shoulder.

"Gee, it must hurt like thunder!" he said.

The youth leaned heavily upon his friend. "Yes, it hurts--hurts a good
deal," he replied. There was a faltering in his voice.

"Oh," said the corporal. He linked his arm in the youth's and drew him
forward. "Come on, Henry. I'll take keer 'a yeh."

As they went on together the loud private called out after them: "Put
'im t' sleep in my blanket, Simpson. An'--hol' on a minnit--here's my
canteen. It's full 'a coffee. Look at his head by th' fire an' see
how it looks. Maybe it's a pretty bad un. When I git relieved in a
couple 'a minnits, I'll be over an' see t' him."

The youth's senses were so deadened that his friend's voice