“When I came through the settlement on the night of the battle, the people had just abandoned their dwellings, and, as I ran, I found near half a loaf of corn bread which had been dropped by some of the fugitives. It is water I need, although while coming down the river it seemed as if I could never be thirsty again, so much was I forced to drink in.” Giles March had hastened toward the spring inside the enclosure when Elias first spoke of his thirst, and we soon gave him as much clear water as seemed safe at one time. Then, the wounds being bandaged rudely, I took Master Bartlett aside and asked him if, in his belief, they were dangerous. “I am not overly much of a surgeon, Jonathan, but it looks to me as if the lad was badly hurt. One leg and an arm are useless, bearing no less than three wounds, and he has what appears to be a knife-thrust in his right side. If he was at the cave, where the women could care for him, there might be some chance for his life; but, as it is, I believe we have only come in time to ease his meeting with death.” Then it was as if I forgot my impatience to be out in the valley, searching here and there for sufferers, and had in mind only the plight of my comrade. If it was possible his life could be saved by taking him to the cave, then would I carry Elias Shendle on my back the entire distance, begrudging not the labor if he might be spared one single pang; but when I gave words to that thought, Master Bartlett said, gravely: “I question, lad, if he would live to get there. The journey could not be otherwise than long and rough, and he holds on to his life, as it seems to me, but by a thread. The wonder of it is that he had sufficient strength remaining to cry out when you and Giles were near him.” “But we must do something for him, Master Bartlett.” “Ay, lad, so we have to the best of our ability, and will do as much more as is within our power.” Then came the thought that, if we could not carry Elias to the cave, we must be held there in the stockade as prisoners, for verily I would not leave him, even though I was forced to stand against all John Butler’s wolves until they had overcome me. Elias Shendle was the dearest comrade I ever had, and whatsoever of distress or danger there might be abroad was as nothing compared with the duty I owed him, for I knew full well he could never be frightened or coaxed from my side if I was needing his assistance. It was a black perplexity. We who had come out on a definite enterprise, knowing that it might be possible for us to aid very many, would be held here by one, unless those who had come with me minded to act contrary to my wishes.