Part 14 (1/2)
”No, of course not. Here, give me that jacket again, you. Let's get it on. This is all waste of time.”
He winced a good deal and looked very white; but he bravely mastered his feeling of faintness, and struggled once more into his tunic, suffering greatly, as I could see by the pallor breaking through his sun-browned skin.
”Stings a bit,” he said to me as he fastened the b.u.t.tons; ”but it might have been worse-eh, Val? I always was a thick-skinned fellow, and it turns out lucky now. How far is the nearest skirmisher?”
”A good thousand yards, I should say,” I replied.
”Good, and no mistake, for the distance has saved me, Val, my lad. But what's that: over half a mile-eh? Not bad shooting, and shows they must have good rifles, bless 'em! Now then, hand me that cartridge-belt, and I should be glad if you'd pa.s.s it over my head, for I'm not very ready to move.”
”You will have to let the doctor see the place,” I said as I extended the bandolier so as to pa.s.s it over his head.
”Doctor? Faugh! What do I want with a doctor for this? I'm going to keep quiet, my lad, or the doctor and the Colonel between them will be wanting to invalid me.”
”Oh!” I exclaimed sharply.
”Hullo!” he cried. ”Don't say you've got it too, lad!”
”No, no. Look here,” I said, and I held out the cartridge-belt to show where a case was flattened-the bra.s.s exterior and the bullet within-while the spring-like holder was broken, and the leather beneath sprayed with lead.
”What's the matter?” said Denham, looking round, and wincing with pain as he changed his position.
”It was no spent bullet that struck you,” I said, dragging out the damaged cartridge. ”You have the bullet in its bra.s.s case to thank for saving your life. Look how they're flattened.”
He took the bolt in his fingers, and then held them out, examining all carefully without a word.
”Humph!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed at last. ”That was a narrow escape. I think I shall save that flattened bullet. Not the sort of thing a man would choose for a back-plate, but it did its work. Yes, I must save that flattened bit and the bullet the Boer shot. They'll be worth taking out of a drawer some day to show people, if we got safe through the war. There, I'm all right now. Attention! March!”
The firing had ceased as he gave the orders, the first word in a sharp military way, the second with a catching gasp, and he fell over sidewise. Fortunately I was close upon his left and caught him in my arms, which were none too strong or ready for such a task; but I managed to hold him tightly clasped round the chest as his horse moved off and his legs sank to the ground. A couple of the men drew rein and dismounted directly to come to my help, they taking him from my arms to lay him upon the stony ground.
”Fainted,” I said, dismounting painfully. ”Who has a water-bottle?”
One was produced directly, and I was busily bathing the poor fellow's face and trying to trickle a little water between his lips, when we became painfully aware of the fact that we had moved out from cover, for spat, spat, spat, three bullets struck stones near us, making it evident that we were well in view, and that the Boers were making targets of the different members of the group. This was remedied directly; but in spite of the shaking he received in being moved to the rear of the biggest stone, Denham did not open his eyes, but lay there perfectly insensible; while, to add to our difficulties, one of our men, who had retaken their places in cover, to be ready to reply to the fire if a favourable opportunity presented itself, announced that the enemy was steadily advancing down the pa.s.s, and evidently with the intention of clearing it of the party of cavalry which had entered between its barren walls.
Chapter Thirteen.
Realities of War.
I glanced round at the little group of men, every face wearing the same serious aspect; then I lowered my eyes to continue my task of trying to restore Denham to his senses, while the moments glided by, and many shots were fired at our position; yet there was no change in the officer's condition.
”He isn't dead-is he?” said one of the troopers. ”Dead? No!” I cried angrily; but even as I spoke a chill of horror ran through me, for the utterly inanimate state of my new friend suggested that the shock of the blow might have been fatal.
”But he doesn't seem to have a spark of life in him, poor chap!”
”He'll recover soon,” I said as firmly as I could, and determined to put the best face upon the matter.
”But we can't wait for 'soon,'” cried another man impatiently. ”In less than a quarter of an hour the Doppers will be down upon us, and then it's either a bullet apiece or prisoners.”
”We must carry him down to where the Colonel is with the rest of the troopers,” I said. ”No, no. Set him on a horse.”