"You see, that day—it was horrible with the groans of the wounded and dying. And the awful heat! I tried to crawl to a little stream, but fainted. And this soldier came along presently, when I begged him for a drink."
"These are the oaks, I think," said the doctor, who knew the road well.
"Then it is a little further on."
They turned into a cart-path. In a sort of opening stood a blackened pine that had been grand in its day. After several curves they left this road and soon found the hut.
Lieutenant Ralston was in a bad condition, indeed—emaciated to a degree, his eyes sunken, his voice tremulous, his whole physique so reduced that he could not stand up. Stafford had made a bed of fir and hemlock branches, and the little place was fragrant, if otherwise dreary.
"We will not stop for explanations!" exclaimed the doctor briskly. "The best thing is to get you to some civilized place and attend to you."
"And the lad, too. I should have died without him and poor old Judy. She will think the wolves have eaten us, only she won't find any bones."
He was lifted carefully into the carriage, and they journeyed homeward as rapidly as circumstances would permit. Patty had cleared the sitting room on the lower floor, and a cot had been spread for Ralston. They laid the fainting man upon it, and the doctor proceeded to examine his injuries.
The bone in the leg had been splintered, and a jagged wound made. Judy's simples had kept it from becoming necessarily fatal, but the fever and the days that had elapsed rendered it very critical.
"I only hope he won't have to lose his leg," said Roger. "That would be terrible to him."