Now a finger was shattered, now an ear was grazed.
"I'm not doing much killing; but, faith, I'm warming 'em up a bit,"
he said, as he halted to cool his rifle. "It's keeping the ball a-
rolling, and them busy. Else, belike they'd find Satan filling the
idle hands of them with bad deeds. Little Canuck dear, this is hot
work for a boy."
Weldon nodded. His hat had been lost in the scramble up the hill,
his putties were dragged into heaps of khaki about his knees, the
shoulder of his coat was torn by a passing bullet and a scarlet
trickle lined his cheek; but his face was alert and eager, his lips
parted in a half-smile which brought back to Paddy's mind a dim
picture of the boyish trooper he had known and loved at Piquetberg
Road. Then another man in khaki dropped at their feet. The lines of
Weldon's mouth straightened.
"No go," he said briefly. "We must charge. It's our only chance."
Paddy took one last, hasty shot. Then, gripping his rifle, he turned
to Weldon.
"True, little Canuck," he answered loyally. "Go on, and be sure
Paddy will follow you to the other edge of the grave!"
He spoke truthfully. The reinforcements came rushing up the eastern
slope of the hill, to find their pathway encumbered with bearded men
in frock-coats and bandoliers.
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