She knew full well of what these little heaps had been made up, and, yet, surrounded as she was by horror, she did not feel afraid, for she was lifted up by patriotic fervor and a great desire to help where help of her was needed as were so many of the Red Cross nurses whom she met; splendid women volunteered their services as nurses during the progress of the Spanish-American war, and wore, with pride and reverence, the brilliant cross that indicated what the calling they had chosen was; Ruth Wakefield served her country with her might and wore her uniform as proudly and conscientiously as any General could; she drove along that lonely, unknown road as quietly and fearlessly as if her horses trotted over the finest boulevard in some populous city of her own United States and firmly held within her strong and steady hands the lines that guided the high-lifed team she had secured for her own use since coming to take charge of the hospital which she had endowed with her own funds. Suddenly and without warning, her team was startled by a man who rose to his full height and stood erect and tall beside the road as if he'd risen from the heaps of dead that lay beside the way; the horses soon became unmanageable and overturned the vehicle, so that Ruth suddenly found herself thrown against a slight embankment lining the road, while her frightened team turned back toward the hospital; her first thought was of them, but, remembering that, only a few miles back, she had passed one of the patrols, she hoped the team would be secured and taken into safety; then, shudderingly, she realized that she was all alone in a strange and hostile neighborhood, and, acting on a sudden impulse, she hastily climbed over the embankment as she thought she heard a noise approaching on the road; she turned and started back but kept herself concealed as much as possible behind the friendly embankment.