Part 12 (1/2)

”Are you suffering very much?” she asked softly.

The man nodded, his eyes closed, and a queer pallor came over his face.

Lucia was suddenly terrified. She felt very helpless in this battle with death, but her determination never left her.

She ran to the door. Poor Garibaldi was still standing hitched to the stretcher. Lucia went to her and led her back to the door of the cottage. She looked half-fearfully, half-angrily at the town above her.

”He shall not die!” she said between her teeth, and went back into the house.

The transfer from the bed to the stretcher was very difficult to manage, for the poor soldier was beyond helping himself. But Lucia succeeded without hurting him too much, and once more the strange trio started out on their climb.

They were in no great danger, for only an occasional sh.e.l.l burst near them. The fighting was going on below the east wall. Lucia and Garibaldi toiled up the hill, each one using every bit of their strength.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Lucia and Garibaldi toiled up the hill, each one using every bit of their strength.”]

The soldier was limp and lifeless, his head rolled with every b.u.mp. He looked like one dead, but Lucia refused even to consider such a possibility. She urged Garibaldi on and tugged with determined persistence.

They were just below the wall when Lucia stopped to rest. The little goat was staggering from the exertion, and she was out of breath. She looked at the gate, it was only a little way off, but it seemed miles, and she wondered if she could go on.

She looked up at the wall. A man dressed in a uniform unlike the Italian soldiers was looking down at her. Lucia called to him just as he jumped to the ground. She held her breath expecting to see him hurt, but he landed on his feet and ran to her.

”For the love of Pete, what have you got there?” he asked in a language that Lucia did not understand.

She looked up at him bewildered.

”I do not understand what you say, but the soldier is very sick.

Please help me carry him to the convent,” she said hurriedly.

”Hum, well you may be right,” the big man laughed, ”but I guess what you want is help.”

He leaned over the wounded Italian.

”Pretty far gone, but there's hope. Steady now, I've got you.” He lifted the man gently in his arms and carried him on his back.

Lucia watched him with admiration s.h.i.+ning in her eyes. She followed with the goat through the gate.

Once in the town she could hardly believe her eyes. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere, shouting and calling from one to the other. She saw the little guns that were making all the sharp, clicking noises, and she knew that just below, and on the other side of the river, the Austrians were fighting desperately.

They pa.s.sed many wounded as they hurried along, and to each one the big man would call out cheerily. Lucia wished she could understand what he said, or even what language he spoke. It was not German, of course, and she did not think it was French.

”Perhaps he was a tourist?” she asked him shyly, but he shook his head.

”I don't get you, I'm sorry. I'm an American, you see.”

”Oh, Americano!” Lucia clapped her hands delightedly. ”I am glad, I thought so, American is the name of the tourists, just as I guessed,”

she replied. ”I have heard of Americans and I have seen some in the summer, but they were not like you.”

She looked up in his face and smiled.