From time to time, when the burden of this responsibility began to wear down his courage, and fear came creeping in at the sheer audacity of this undertaking, he would raise his eyes to the three little tots ahead—and feel every nerve grow steady. As a consequence, the men were thoroughly in hand, stepping with caution and showing every disposition to carry out his orders.
In this way they covered perhaps a mile, reaching a ground of comparative safety where their silence might have relaxed without bringing about disaster. But Jeb would take no chance, and forced the column to proceed with the same scrupulous care. As he was skirting a group of the dead, that looked frightfully grotesque in the pale moonlight, a voice almost at his back sent terror to his soul—then joy.
"Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot!" it said guardedly.
"Tim!" he cried, instantly calling a halt. There could be no mistaking that voice, were it heard anywhere on earth. "Tim, where are you?"
"If it ain't Jeb, may I be shot for a spy! B'ys, deliverance is come!" And the sergeant raised himself to a sitting position, while several forms about him also began to stir.
"You blessed Irishman," said Jeb, delightedly, "if I could take my eyes off this bunch, darned if I wouldn't kiss you!"
"Ye've brought better'n a kiss, lad—but ye can do thot yit, mind ye, if I see inither sun!"
"Are you too badly hurt to be carried in?"
"Thot's a divil av a question, now! Sure, me an' the b'ys is too continted to move for annything, lest 'tis a pitcher av ice-water——" his voice seemed to crack at the mention of this.
Through the interpreter Jeb ordered a man to lift him; and as a big fellow stepped forward, Tim chuckled: