Then it was that old Gillis received his
death-wound, and the solemn, fateful whisper ran from lip to lip along
the scattered line that only five cartridges remained.
For two days Wyman had scarcely stirred from where he lay bolstered
against the rock. Sometimes he became delirious from fever, uttering
incoherent phrases, or swearing in pitiful weakness. Again he would
partially arouse to his old sense of soldierly duty, and assume
intelligent command. Now he twisted painfully about upon his side,
and, with clouded eyes, sought to discern what man was lying next him.
The face was hidden so that all he could clearly distinguish was the
fact that this man was not clothed as a soldier.
"Is that you, Hampton?" he questioned, his voice barely audible.
The person thus addressed, who was lying flat upon his back, gazing
silently upward at the rocky front of the cliff, turned cautiously over
upon his elbow before venturing reply.
"Yes; what is it, sergeant? It looks to be a beauty of a morning way
up yonder."
There was a hearty, cheery ring to his clear voice which left the
pain-racked old soldier envious.
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