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from the edge of the track above him. Then, in answer to the appeal for help, he passed his rifle over his body, and, wrenching himself round, he managed to lower himself beyond the mass of rock so as to get beneath and obtain its shelter from those passing along the ledge, but only to slip suddenly for a yard or two, with the result that the shrubs over which he had passed sprang up again and supplied the shelter which he sought.
"Punch! Punch! Where are you?" he whispered, as, satisfied now that he could not be seen from above, he raised his head a little and tried to make out him whom he sought.
But all was perfectly still about where he lay, while the sound of musketry came rolling and echoing along the narrow ravine; and above the trees, in the direction in which his friends must be, there was a rising and ever-thickening cloud of smoke.
Then for a few minutes the firing ceased, and in the midst of the intense silence there arose from the bushes just above the listener's head a quick twittering of premonitory notes, followed by the sharp, clear, ringing song of a bird, which thrilled the lad with a feeling of hope in the midst of what the moment before had been a silence that was awful.
Then from close at hand came a low, piteous groan, and a familiar voice muttered, "The cowards--to leave a comrade like this!"
CHAPTER TWO.
POOR PUNCH.
Private Gray, of his Majesty's --th Rifles,--wrenched himself round once more, pressed aside a clump of heathery growth, crawled quickly about a couple of yards, and found himself lying face to face with the bugler of his company.
"Why, Punch, lad!" he said, "not hurt much, are you?"
"That you, Private Gray?"
"Yes. But tell me, are you wounded?"
"Yes!" half-groaned the boy; and then with a sudden access of excitement, "Here, I say, where's my bugle?"
"Oh, never mind your bugle. Where are you hurt?" cried the boy's comrade.
"In my bugle--I mean, somewhere in my back. But where's my instrument?"
"There it is, in the grass, hanging by the cord."
"Oh, that's better," groaned the boy. "I thought all our chaps had gone on and left me to die."
"And now you see that they hav'n't," said the boy's companion. "There, don't try to move. We mustn't be seen."
"Yes," almost babbled the boy, speaking piteously, "I thought they had all gone, and left me here. I did try to ketch up to them; but--oh, I am so faint and sick that it's all going round and round! Here, Private Gray, you are a good chap, shove the cord over my head, and take care the enemy don't get my bugle. Ah! Water--water, please! It's all going round and round."
Penton Gray made no effort now to look round for danger, but, unstopping his water-bottle, he crept closer to his companion in adversity, passed the strap of the boy's shako from under his chin, thrust his cap from his head to lie amongst the grass, and then opened the collar of his coatee and began to trickle a little water between the poor fellow's lips and sprinkled a little upon his temples.
"Ah!" sighed the boy, as he began to revive, "that's good! I don't mind now."
"But you are hurt. Where's your wound?" said the young private eagerly.
"Somewhere just under the shoulder," replied the boy. "'Tain't bleeding much, is it?"
"I don't know yet.--I won't hurt you more than I can help."
"Whatcher going to do?"
"Draw off your jacket so that I can see whether the hurt's bad."
"'Tain't very," said the boy, speaking feebly of body but stout of heart. "I don't mind, comrade. Soldiers don't mind a wound.--Oh, I say!" he cried, with more vigour than he had previously evinced.
"Did I hurt you?"
"Yes, you just did. Were you cutting it with your knife?"
"No," said his comrade with a half-laugh, as he drew his hand from where he had passed it under the boy's shoulder. "That's what cut you, Punch," and he held up a ragged-looking bullet which had dropped into his fingers as he manipulated the wound.
"Thought you was cutting me with your knife," said the boy, speaking with some energy now. "But, I say, don't you chuck that away; I want that.--What did they want to shoot me there for--the cowards! Just as if I was running away, when I was only obeying orders. If they had shot me in front I could have seen to it myself.--I say, does it bleed much?"
"No, my lad; but it's an ugly place."
"Well, who wants it to be handsome? I ain't a girl. Think you can stop it, private?"
"I think I can bind it up, Punch, and the bleeding will stop of itself."
"That's good. I say, though, private--sure to die after it, ain't I?"
"Yes, some day," said the