That long, deep draught of sweet, cool water seemed to send fresh life
through Dick, and he rose up, thinking that it would be easy now to get
down to the track and find his way back to his friends, but he shook his
head.
No, he said, the Frenchmen would be about, and he might lose his way in
the dark. Better wait a bit.
But it was so horribly lonely, and the stillness made him shiver as if
he were cold, and obeying a natural instinct to be near something, he
climbed back to where the dead mule lay, dragged a blanket from where
the French soldiers had tossed it, and threw it over him. Then he crept
close to the mule's side, to sit watching the light die out on the tops
of the mountains and the stars begin to come out. His head began to
sink sidewise, nodded once or twice, and in spite of the darkness and
the horror of his situation he fell fast asleep, to begin dreaming of
Mother Beane, of the camp-fire and the cooking, and Tom Jones the bugle
boy making a horrible noise on his copper horn, as he would sometimes in
play: and then he started into wakefulness, to crouch there listening,
for the hoarse sound sounded again from somewhere below.
The boy shuddered, for he knew it was not the note of the bugle, but a
horrible long-drawn cry, faint and strange, and the cold drops began to
gather on his forehead, for it sounded like the howling of a wolf, such
a cry as he had heard Mother Beane talk about when telling him and Tom
Jones about her adventures over the camp-fire. He listened and
shuddered as the cry came again out of the darkness: and then the
frightened feeling passed away.
"'Tisn't a wolf," he said, and he started to his feet. "Where are you?"
he shouted, wishing that he had not spoken in his excitement, for he
felt that it might be a French soldier. Then he began to feel his way
slowly through the bushes, for it was no enemy who replied, but someone
English calling out from the thick darkness of the night that terribly
stirring word,--Help.
Dick had only one thought then, a thought which overmastered fear.
Someone was in trouble and wanted help. It must be a wounded soldier,
some one of his many friends who had chatted to him as he rode, for
everyone in the regiment had a kind word to say.
"Hoi! Where are you?" he shouted, and the voice answered from very
near: but the bushes were thick, the rocks many, and the darkness deep,
so that it was some time before Dick could reach the spot and pass his
hands over someone lying there.
"Water."