The Confederates had evidently just discovered the meaning of the Federal ruse and the fact that the two regiments which had attacked them were again on the march.
Wherefore, to seize at least a remnant of glory from the day of defeats, the Confederate leader was taking his men in pursuit of the withdrawing regiments in the hope of overhauling and thrashing them before they could come up with the remainder of the demi-corps, which had now passed out of sight.
At such a moment the capture or killing of three fugitive Yankees was too trivial a matter to think of. The village was emptied with incredible speed.
The hut’s occupants were as devoid of danger as they were devoid of reasonable chance, by this move on the part of the enemy, of rescue.
Dad explained this in a dozen words to Jimmie as they laid Joseph’s body on a truckle bed in the half-furnished front room of the cottage.
“We’ve got to tend to him ourselves,” he ended. “We can’t carry him, wounded like this, to headquarters. It might kill him. If there was just someone here who understood something more than we do about nursing—”
“There is!” spoke up Jimmie.
“What?”
“When that general of yours hustled all the guns and the baggage along he left the two biggest wagons to follow. I know why, too. They’re Red Cross wagons. Volunteer nurses, sawbones, and all that sort of thing. They’re immune from getting shot or nabbed. So he didn’t clog up the ‘rush’ baggage with ’em.
“I got all that while I was waiting for leave to go ahead with my drum. They can’t be over a mile or so off. They’ll be on that main road over yonder somewhere.”