‘Hush, comrade!’ said Jack; ‘poor Larry will never speak again!’
He had been killed by the splinter of a shell, and death must have been instantaneous, for the poor lad’s face still wore a kind of triumphant smile. They straightened his limbs, sheathed the sword still attached by the sword-knot to his wrist, and placed his trumpet and bugle on his breast. The Dragoon knelt beside his dead cousin in prayer for a minute, and Jack and Will stood bareheaded.
Suddenly a faint scream broke on the night air, and Jack, looking behind him, saw a dark figure bending over a dead or wounded man. As he gazed he saw a gleam of steel, and in an instant, being suspicious, darted towards the spot. As he did so a tall, thin figure in a long, dark sort of gown darted away. Jack followed him, Will coming on behind.
The man, who carried a little sack, ran swiftly, and the two Lancers chased him for some distance down towards the Russian lines before they overtook him. They then saw he was a hook-nosed villain with a long black beard, and Jack immediately grappled him.
The fellow drew a knife and tried to stab Jack; but the latter seized his wrist and held it. Will coming up, they got the man on the ground, and, overpowering him, proceeded to bind him with the bridle of a dead horse. This done, they examined the bag he was carrying, and saw it was filled with gold epaulets, watches, rings, money, medals, even chevrons and sword-knots.
‘The scoundrelly villain,’ cried Jack; ‘he’s been robbing the dead and wounded!’
‘If nothing worse,’ said Will. ‘Look at this!’ and he held up the knife which he had wrested from him. There was a dark, sticky fluid on the blade.
Jack shuddered. ‘Blood,’ he said; ‘that accounts for the scream we heard.’
‘What shall we do with him?’ asked Will.
‘Haul him back prisoner,’ replied Jack.