"Don't try to talk, Carmody; don't try! Of course you are right. It must be some of our people. They'll reach us soon. Then we'll have the doctor and can help you. Those saddle-bags!" he said, turning sharply to the whimpering creature kneeling by them, and the lad drew hand across his streaming eyes and passed the worn leather pouches. From one of them Blakely drew forth a flask, poured some brandy into its cup and held it to the soldier's lips. Carmody swallowed almost eagerly. He seemed to crave a little longer lease of life. There was something tugging at his heartstrings, and presently he turned slowly, painfully again. "Lieutenant," he gasped, "I'm not scared to die--this way anyhow. There's no one to care--but the boys--but there's one thing"--and now the stimulant seemed to reach the failing heart and give him faint, fluttering strength--"there's one thing I ought--I ought to tell. You've been solid with the boys--you're square, and I'm not--I haven't always been. Lieutenant--I was on guard--the night of the fire--and Elise, you know--the French girl--she--she's got most all I saved--most all I--won, but she was trickin' me--all the time, lieutenant--me and Downs that's gone--and others. She didn't care. You--you aint the only one I--I--" "Lieutenant!" came in excited whisper, the voice of Stern, and there at his post in front of the cave he knelt, signaling urgently. "Lieutenant, quick!" "One minute, Carmody! I've got to go. Tell me a little later." But with dying strength Carmody clung to his hand. "I must tell you, lieutenant--now. It wasn't Downs's fault. She--she made--"