Before Henry could recover from his bewilderment it was all over, and the soldier lay flat on his back, for in going over his head had struck on a sharp rock, rendering him unconscious. Barringford took the man's gun and his ammunition box and handed them to the youth. "Now you're armed as good as any o' us," he whispered. "It's lucky I cotched him jest right, otherwise we might have had to do some powerful rasselin', eh? Come."
Once again they moved forward, until they felt the barricade of pork barrels could not be more than a hundred yards distant. Then a fresh firing broke out on their left, and soon fifty or more French soldiers hove into sight as they were making a detour from one side of Haldimand's defense to the other.
"Come, we must get out of here!" shouted Barringford, and as the enemy came closer, he fired at the leading soldier. Henry and Gangley also emptied their pieces and three of the enemy went down, all badly wounded.
Running with all possible swiftness, our friends soon reached a point where they could see some of the pork barrels. Barringford held up his hands and was recognized.
"Come in!" was the cry. "Don't stay out there!" And then the three went forward again. But the French had also noticed them and half a score of rifles were turned in that direction. Henry felt a bullet sing unpleasantly close to his head and then saw Barringford, who was close beside him, stagger and go down in a heap.
"Oh, Sam!" he cried, in deep horror, "are you hit?"
There was no reply to this, and Henry saw the blood beginning to show itself around the old hunter's neck. In desperation he caught up Barringford's body and commenced to drag it to the entrance between the pork barrels. Gangley assisted him and soon they were behind the temporary shelter with their burden.
"I hope he isn't dead?" said Henry, as he surveyed the motionless form. "Isn't there a surgeon handy?"
A medical officer soon appeared, and Barringford was carried to an improvised hospital but a short distance away, and here the medical man made a hasty examination.
"He isn't dead, but he's pretty hard hit," was the surgeon's conclusion. "I'll do what I can for him. No, you can't help me. Better go to the front and do your duty. There is no telling how strong the French are, and if they defeat us, you know what we can all expect—a dreary life in a Canadian prison—or worse."