Slowly and painfully he came to a realization of his condition. His head now ached as it had never ached before, and there was a pain like that of a cutting knife in his chest every time he drew his breath. With a groan he could not suppress he sat up and tried to look about him. The effort was a failure. On all sides was darkness, while the rain, splashing down upon his bared head, formed a good-sized pool at his feet. He scooped up some of the water in the hollow of his hand and drank it. “I don’t seem to be shot,” he thought, as he felt himself all over, “and yet what a queer sensation that was when the cannon went off! I believe it took away my wind, and that’s all.” It was some time before he felt strong enough to stand up, and even then he was decidedly shaky. Slowly and painfully he limped to the shelter of a clump of trees. A groan startled him. It was followed by another, and then another. He walked to the other side of the tree and saw three soldiers lying there, two Confederates and one Union man. All were badly wounded, and were huddling together in their misery. The sight made Louis more downhearted than ever, especially as he could do but little for any of the trio. One of the Confederates asked to be propped up against a tree and Louis made him as comfortable as possible. The other simply glared wildly at the youth. “Don’t yer tech me,” he growled, with a strong mountainous accent. “You-uns is responsible fer this--may the Old Nick himself burn yer all!” and he turned his begrimed and muddy face away, that his enemy might not see all he was suffering. “If you’ll please bind up my head,” sighed the Union victim, a New Jersey boy who had been fighting under Kearney for hours. “A fellow clubbed me badly with his musket stock.” The head was bound up with two handkerchiefs tied together, and the New Jersey soldier said it was a great relief. “If I can find any help I’ll try to get you to the hospital,” said Louis, as he moved away. “I’m suffering myself, but I’m not half as badly off as you three are.” He had scarcely spoken when there came a flare of torches, and six rough-looking men burst into view from the brush back of the trees. At first Louis wondered who they were, but was not kept long in doubt as to the identity of two of the number. “Ha! so we meet again!” came a hoarse chuckle, and in another moment Caleb Fox was beside the Union lad. “I was jess wishin’ I could run across yer, hang me ef I wasn’t!” And rushing up he caught Louis strongly by the collar. “Who is he?” asked a stranger in the crowd. “Ef it ain’t thet Rockford fellow,” came from another, and Louis now recognized Sam Jacks. “Don’t let him git away, Caleb. We have too many scores ter settle.” “He ain’t gitting away, don’t ye fear,” growled Caleb Fox. “Fer two pins I’d run him through with my bayonet!”