The private's breath came short and sharp, and now for the first Captain Moore saw how he was suffering.
"You are wounded, Peck."
"That's right, captain."
"You can't run any more."
"I've got to run," muttered Peck, between his set teeth. "They'll be on—oh!—on us in another minute."
"Give me your arm—I'll help you along."
The private held out his hand, then gave a pitch, and, before the young officer could catch him, sank on the grass insensible.
Captain Moore's heart leaped into his throat, for he had known Peck for years, and the two were very friendly. He listened, and heard a distant shot. Evidently the Indians were not yet coming in that direction. They would first hunt down the others, providing they were not already slain.
Bending down, the young officer took Peck in his strong arms and threw the private over his shoulder. The weight was considerable, and made him stagger.
"I've got to carry him, somehow!" he muttered. "Heaven give me strength to do it!"