Part 73 (2/2)
He ceased speaking, and lay back fainting.
Fred sprinkled and bathed his face for a few minutes, and then becoming alarmed at the poor fellow's long-continued swooning, he was about to get up and run for help, when Nat slowly opened his eyes again and his lips moved.
”Where's that Samson?” he whispered faintly.
”With my regiment.”
”Not hurt badly like me, is he, Master Fred?”
”No; he has escaped wonderfully.”
”I'm glad of that, sir, because I shouldn't like for anybody else to give him his lesson. That's to be my job, as soon as I get better. I'm going to take him in hand, Master Fred, and weed him. He's full o'
rubbish, and I'm going to make him a better man. A villain! fighting again his own brother.”
”There, Nat, drink a little more water, and eat some of this cake, and then I'll go and get help to have you carried up to camp.”
”What? A prisoner? No, Master Fred. Sooner die where I am, than let that Samson see me like this, and jump upon me.”
”Nonsense! Samson's a good fellow at heart, and as soon as he sees you in trouble, he'll be only too glad to help you.”
”Not he, sir; he's my born enemy.”
”He's your brother, and I shall send him, for one, to fetch you.”
”No, Master Fred, don't; don't, pray don't, sir. Let me lie here. I don't feel the cold and wet much, and if you'd come once a day and bring me a bit o' bread and a drop o' water, I shall soon get well. Don't have me made a prisoner, sir.”
”But I can't leave you helpless, and--”
He was about to add dying, but he checked himself.
”And free, Master Fred? Why not? You let me alone, sir. You've saved me this time, for I was going to die to-night. Now I'm going to live.
Rather strange for enemies, sir, isn't it? Hark!”
Fred was already listening to a trumpet call, and springing to his feet, he prepared to go.
”I shall send a litter for you to be borne up to camp,” he said.
”No, Master Fred, please. I'm a poor helpless thing now, not strong enough to lift a spade, but if you leave me the rest of that bread, I shall do; and if you can come and look at me once or twice, that will be all I shall want. But, Heaven bless you, sir! don't have me made a prisoner.”
”Well, Nat, I shall leave you to-night, as it's going to be fine. But let me look at your wounds.”
”No, sir, let them bide. I did all I could to them. Come back to-morrow, sir, and if I ain't better then, you may talk of sending me away a prisoner, with my brother Samson to stand and sneer because I am so weak.”
A second trumpet call rang out, and, unable to stay longer, Fred hurried back into the open, and made his way over to the little camp, asking himself whether he had not better disregard the poor wounded man's prayers, and have him fetched out, always coming back to the conclusion that he would at all events leave him for another day, when he would take him an ample store of provision, if possible, and decide then as to his future course.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
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