For a moment no reply whatever. Wing's face was hidden. Then he looked gently upward.
"Lieutenant, I'm ashamed to be giving you so much trouble. Please go and lie down again, sir; you're worse hurt than I am,—only I suppose I get to dozing off and then turn on that side."
"No, it isn't that, sergeant. There's something wrong, and it has all come on you since yesterday morning. Where is your mother?"
Again Wing turned away, burying his face in his arms.
"Listen, sergeant; we hope to get you out of this by to-night. Dr. Gray ought surely to reach us by that time, and while we may have to keep up a field hospital here a day or two, my first duty will be to write and tell your mother how bravely you have served us, and she shall be told that you are wounded, but not in such a way as to alarm her."
Out came a restraining hand.
"Lieutenant, she must not know at all."
"Well, she can't, so far as I'm concerned, as I don't know her address. But think a moment; you know and I know—Hold on, wait!" And Drummond rose and tiptoed to a cleft in the rock through which shone a dim light; it was the entrance to the remote inner cave where the Harvey girls were sleeping. Assured that his words could reach there no listening ears, Drummond returned, kneeling again by the sergeant's side. "Just think, man; any moment after daybreak the Apaches may be upon us, and, who knows? it may be my last fight. Of course I believe that our fellows can stand them off until rescue comes, but a bullet may find me any moment, and then who is there to report your conduct and secure the recognition due you, or, if the doctor should be late in coming and fever set in and this wound prove too much for your strength, is there nothing that ought to be said to her for you?"
Again only painful silence. At last Wing spoke.
"I understand. I appreciate all you say. But I've got to think it over, lieutenant. Give me an hour or so. Don't ask me to tell you now."