“We’re coming. Don’t move!” said a voice below him; and in a second his burden was taken from him. Then, as he felt his senses going, he slipped down the ladder, struck among a crowd of people, and for the moment knew no more.
When Gilbert recovered, he found himself sitting on a bench in the rear of the prison yard, and several American soldiers in attendance upon him.
“Lieutenant, you had a close call,” said one of the soldiers. “Another minute, and it would have been all over with you.”
“Yes, I know it,” answered Gilbert, as he drew a deep breath. “I—I feel rather queer yet.”
“I should think so! Better take it easy for a while.”
“I’ll have to, sergeant. What of that man I brought out?”
“He’s in a bad way, lieutenant. Reckon he was sick, wasn’t he?”
“So I believe. But he’ll pull through, won’t he?”
“Yes, he’ll pull through,” put in another voice, and a surgeon strode up. “Can I do anything for you, lieutenant?”
“I don’t know that you can. I think after I have had a wash-up I’ll feel better.”