I cannot positively say that the tears came from the boy's eyes, as some of my readers might deem that an unmanly proceeding, though God knows the poor fellow had cause enough to weep, with his best and only friend lying dead before him.
That he lifted the general's cold hand and kissed it repeatedly, while murmuring a farewell, I can and do affirm.
A moment more and he was stealthily making his way along the ravine, heading toward the river.
A vague notion that a horse was necessary to his future movements had intruded itself upon his brain, and although his plan of obtaining one was as yet illy defined, it constantly gained ground.
Once a dark form suddenly rose up in front of him, but the greasy Indian got no further than the drawing of his knife, when Mason's revolver sounded his death note, and without even a groan he sank beside the dead man whom he had been in the act of despoiling when disturbed by the boy's approach.
Avoiding all others whom he saw, Mason soon left the ravine behind him, and passing over the intervening ground, where a few bodies were scattered promiscuously about, he stood upon the river bank.
There was something soothing in the steady hum of the water which appeared to steady the boy's disturbed mind, and for almost half an hour he stood leaning against a tree that bent over the river, and engaged in dreamy fancies.
He had almost forgotten his notion of getting a remount in place of the one lost during the bloody skirmish.
Sad thoughts had crowded into his mind.
Of all that gallant band, was he the only survivor?