Paddy took one last, hasty shot. Then, gripping his rifle, he turned to Weldon.
"True, little Canuck," he answered loyally. "Go on, and be sure Paddy will follow you to the other edge of the grave!"
He spoke truthfully. The reinforcements came rushing up the eastern slope of the hill, to find their pathway encumbered with bearded men in frock-coats and bandoliers. On top of the crest, surrounded by the wounded and the dying, sat a single man in khaki, the light of victory in his gleaming eyes, and Paddy's lifeless body clasped in his weary arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
"Yes," Carew said meditatively; "I wish there had been glory enough to go around. As long as there wasn't, though, I am glad it was fated to fall to your share."
Weldon hurled a little black stone at a great black rock.
"Not so much glory, after all."
Carew raised his eyes and apostrophized the dark gray clouds rushing across the paler gray arch of the sky.
"Just listen to the man! What can he be wanting? 'Not so much glory!' And he recommended for a V. C.!"