"It is ours, but harm has been done," said Arenberg in a low voice. Then he sank forward softly on his face. Phil and Breakstone quickly raised him up. He had fainted from loss of blood, but as his wounds were only of the flesh he was soon revived. Breakstone had three slight wounds of his own, and these were bound up, also. Phil, meanwhile, was hunting in the gorge for other friends. Grayson was alive and well, but some that he had known were gone. He was weak, mind and body alike, with the relaxation from the long battle and all those terrible emotions, but he helped with the wounded. Below them lay the army of Santa Anna, its lights shining again in the darkness, and, for all Phil knew, it might attack again on the morrow, but he gave little attention to it now. His whole concern was for his comrades. The victory had been won, but they had been compelled to purchase it at a great price. The losses were heavy. Twenty-eight officers of rank were among the killed, regiments were decimated, and even the unhurt were so exhausted that they could scarcely stand. Phil sat down at the edge of the gorge. He was yet faint and dizzy. It seemed to him that he would never be able to exert himself again. Everything swam before him in a sort of confused glare. He was conscious that his clothing was stained red in two or three places, but when he looked, in a mechanical way, at the wounds, he saw they were scratches, closed already by the processes of nature. Then his attention wandered again to the field. He was full of the joy of victory, but it was a vague, uncertain feeling, not attaching itself to any particular thing. The twilight had already sunk into the night, and the black wind, heavy with chill, moaned in the Pass of Angostura. It was a veritable dirge for the dead. Phil felt it all through his relaxed frame, and shivered both with cold and with awe. Smoke and vapor from so much firing still floated about the plateau, the pass, and the slopes, but there was a burning touch on his face which he knew did not come from any of them. It was the dust of the desert again stinging him after the battle as it had done before it. He obeyed its call, summoned anew all his strength, both of body and mind, and climbed out of the gorge, where friend and foe still lay in hundreds, mingled and peaceful in death. He found more light and cheer on the plateau and in the pass. Here the unhurt and those hurt slightly were building fires, and they had begun to cook food and boil coffee. Phil suddenly perceived that he was hungry. He had not tasted food since morning. He joined one of the groups, ate and drank, and more vigor returned. Then he thought of the horse which he had left tethered in an alcove, and which he had not used at all that day. The horse was there unharmed, although a large cannon-ball lay near his feet. It was evidently a spent ball which had rolled down the side of the mountain, as it was not buried at all.