“Good old George,” he murmured to himself rather than to his comrade, “I'll save you.” Excitement and resolve had given him a strength twice the normal, a strength that would last the fifteen or twenty minutes needed until this task was finished. Despite the darkness and the driving rain, he could now see the lights in his own camp, and bending forward a little to support the dead weight on his back, he walked in a straight course toward them. “Halt! Who are you?” The form of a sentinel, rifle raised, rose up before him in the darkness and the rain. “Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment, bringing in Lieutenant George Warner of the same regiment, who is badly wounded.” The sentinel lowered his rifle and looked at them sympathetically. “Hangs like he's dead, but he ain't,” he said. “You'll find a sort of hospital over thar in the big tents among them trees.” Dick found the improvised hospital, and put George down on a rude cot, within the shelter of one of the tents. “He's my friend,” he said to a young doctor, “and I wish you'd save him.” “There are hundreds of others who have friends also, but I'll do my best. Shot just under the right shoulder, but the bullet, luckily, has turned and gone out. It's loss of blood that hurt him most. You soldiers kill more men than we doctors can save. I'm bound to say that. But your friend won't die. I'll see to it.” “Thank you,” said Dick. He saw that the doctor was kind-hearted, and a marvel of endurance and industry. He could not ask for more at such a time, and he went out of the tent, leaving George to his care. It was still raining, but the soldiers managed to keep many fires going, despite it, and Dick passed between them as he sought Colonel Winchester, and the fragments of his regiment. He found the colonel wrapped in a greatcoat, leaning against a tree under a few feet of canvas supported on sticks. Pennington, sound asleep, sat on a root of the same tree, also under the canvas, but with the rain beating on his left arm and shoulder. Colonel Winchester looked inquiringly at Dick, but said nothing. “I've been away without leave, sir,” said Dick, “but I think I have sufficient excuse.” “What is it?” “I've brought in Warner.” “Ah! Is he dead?” “No, sir. He's had a bullet through him and he's feverish and unconscious, but the doctor says that with care he'll get well.” “Where did you find him?” “Over there by the edge of the wood, sir, within what is now the Confederate lines.” “A credit to your courage and to your heart. Sit down here. There's a little more shelter under the canvas, and go to sleep. You're too much hardened now to be hurt seriously by wet clothes.”