Henry, while the bullets whistled above his head,
bent down and cut away Paul's hunting shirt. Yes, the bullet had gone
entirely through his body and it was lucky for Paul that it had done so.
No need now of the surgeon's probe. Henry bound up the wound tightly and
stopped the bleeding. Then he undertook to lift the lad; but Paul,
although still unconscious and a dead weight in his arms, groaned with
pain. Henry laid him gently back on the ground.
"Boys," he said, "Paul is too weak to be moved, and we've got to hold this
place until help comes or the enemy quits."
"I think the last skirmisher has escaped now," said Shif'less Sol, "but
here we stay."
He spoke for them all, and Henry, unable to do anything more for Paul,
turned his attention anew to the enemy. There was a sudden increase of the
firing in front. The clouds and vapors rolled back, and the dancing
figures in the thickets took on more semblance of reality. Suddenly Henry
uttered a cry. His eyes of almost preternatural keenness had recognized
one of the figures.
"What is it, Henry?" asked Shif'less Sol.
"Braxton Wyatt. He's in the thicket. I saw him a moment ago. I know his
face and figure too well to be mistaken."
"I saw him, too," replied the shiftless one.
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