The two men tried once more to get away and reach the British lines. Potts attempted to carry Andrews, but he was too weak and the effort failed. Then, says the London _Times_, when hope itself seemed to be abandoned, an inspiration came, suggested by an ordinary entrenching shovel, one of many which were lying on the hill. Potts wriggled to the shovel, managed to support Andrews on it, stood up, and dragged desperately—all the more so because as soon as he rose the Turks opened fire. Famished and exhausted, he could not do more than pull his burden over the rough ground for about six yards; then he collapsed. Andrews, too, had suffered severely under the strain. But the next night Potts resumed his forlorn hope. He had his comrade on the shovel, lying flat; he supported him as best he could, and Andrews held grimly on to his rescuer’s wrists. For more than three hours, in the bright moonlight, down the scrub-infested, stony, dusty hillside, Private Potts dragged his helpless burden on the shovel; then came a sentry’s challenge, “Halt!” Inexpressibly joyful was the sound of the British voice to the two worn-out troopers; grimly humorous was the sentry’s question: “What are you doing? Are you burying the dead?” Potts explained: “I have a chap here wounded, and I’ve dragged him down the hill on a shovel. Could you not give me a hand?” Give a hand! Many a willing hand was given that night at the foot of that fatal hill, the scene of much tragedy, yet relieved by the bravery and resource of the twenty-two year old trooper, who might easily have saved himself by abandoning his wounded fellow; but he was not of that breed. IT WAS UP TO BILL And in Spite of Regulations and Red Tape the Old Sergeant Got to France and Into the Front Lines Let no one dare deny the heroism of Bill Davidson. His name may not be found among those cited for distinguished service, but that is because distinguished services are not enumerated in the military code. If there is an instance of more determined valor or of more successful triumph over the impossible it does not appear in the chronicles. Nevertheless it is necessary to introduce Bill Davidson, and the greatest distinction that can be conferred upon him in the estimation of Bill Davidson himself is to say he was orderly to Lieutenant Colonel John C. Greenway, First Division, A. E. F. He hailed from out Arizona way. In the days when the United States was engaged with Spain in the discussion of matters more or less serious, Jack Greenway was a Captain of Rough Riders, and Bill was his Sergeant, and by the testimony of that Captain, now Lieutenant-Colonel, Bill was the best first Sergeant in Cuba. There Bill took into his spiritual system an affection of devotion to Greenway that time and circumstances can never diminish.