And the next moment all was over.
Wing sighed and turned the young soldier on his back, and straightened out his limbs and closed his eyes, placing two pennies upon the lids to keep them down.
While performing these last offices he had several times touched a carbine that lay beside the dead boy.
How he took it up and returned to the spot where Justin Rosenthal lay partly under the burden of the horse.
“Oh, my Colonel! I have been away so long! But I found a dying soldier, moaning for water, before I found the carbine. And I had to minister to his wants, and even receive his last breath and close his eyes, before I could come back to you,” said Wing.
“You were right, my boy. But now the wind has risen a little and blown the fog away. Can you see where to place the end of the carbine so as to raise the weight of the horse from my limbs?”
“Yes, my Colonel, I can,” said Wing, poking the end of the weapon under the body of the horse that lay directly across one of Justin’s limbs, and prying it up a little way.
“There—that is already a great relief. A little higher—raise it a little higher, Wing, and I shall be able to draw my limb from under it and crawl away,” said Justin.
And Wing put forth all his strength, and pryed up the weight, and lifted it clear of the crushed limb beneath it, and held it so, until Justin Rosenthal crawled away.
Then Wing let the dead horse drop to the ground, while he rushed to his colonel.