“General Hospital Wagon No. 4,” was the answer from the driver. And he showed a slip of paper.
“Right; pass on,” answered the guard, and the gate was opened, the wagon passed through, and then the gate was closed again.
Hardly daring to breathe, the young soldier remained crouched between boxes and bundles, as the wagon jounced over the rough road, deep with snow in some places, and swept bare by the wind in others. Then, when he calculated that half the distance to the hospital had been covered, and they came to another road leading westward, he dropped off behind, and the hospital wagon rolled out of sight without him.
CHAPTER XXIII
FACE TO FACE WITH THE UNEXPECTED
So far Henry had given but scant thought to where he was going. His whole mind had been concentrated on getting away from Quebec, and from those who wished to make him suffer for a crime which he had not committed.
But now, as he stood in the middle of the deserted roadway, with the gloom of night on every side of him, and with a cutting wind blowing the drifting snow into his face, he realized that he must find shelter, and that quickly. He was not accustomed to such a severe winter, and the cold seemed to pierce him like a knife.
At a corner of the roadway stood a signboard, a rough affair, with an arrow pointing to the northeast, and under this the name St. Foy.
“That must lead to one of the outposts,” thought the young soldier. “I can’t go there. I wonder if there isn’t some French farmhouse in this vicinity where they will give me shelter for the night, and some food?”
To keep warm he began to tramp along the road. He had gone but a short distance when he came to a cross road. Here everything was covered with snow, and half blinded by the whirlings of the wind he got onto the cross road without knowing it.