"Is that it?" said the orderly. "You don't seem very bad on the whole. But what's wrong with this one? I can't get him to come to," and he pointed to the motionless form of Klitzing.
"Perhaps cold water would bring him round," said Sickel. "Down there to the left there must be a stream. You can hear it running."
"Then I'll just go down there," returned the orderly. He laid the bottle of cordial at Vogt's feet and climbed down through the brushwood.
Vogt slowly raised his head and looked about him in surprise. The draught had revived him wonderfully. Where was he? A horse was standing near him bleeding from a gaping wound in the flank. Not far off lay one of his comrades stretched out like a corpse, and pale as death, with eyes closed and blood-stained froth on his lips. Why, it was Klitzing! He clutched at his forehead, and all at once the curtain that had clouded his memory parted. He realised what had happened after he had seen the hoof coming in the direction of his skull. A dark body had thrown itself between him and the glistening iron--and then the blow had been struck. There had been a terrible, hollow sound, and then--then that body had been hurled into the air.
Suddenly he understood it all: Klitzing had sacrificed himself for him, his friend had saved him from the death-dealing blow of that iron-shod hoof, and there he now lay upon the grass, pale, unconscious--perhaps dead.
At this moment the unconscious man's eyelids opened at last with difficulty, his dull gaze went searching round, then rested upon Vogt with an expression of boundless devotion. Vogt darted to the clerk's side, threw himself down, and took the pale face between his hands.
"Heinrich!" he cried. "My dear good Heinrich! What have you done for me?"
Bright tears ran down his cheeks, and through his sobs he could only stammer again and again: "Heinrich! my dear good fellow!"
Klitzing tried to speak. His lips moved slightly, but no word came from them. A feeble hand was raised to his friend's shoulder, stroked it languidly, then fell heavily back. Again the eyes closed and remained shut, although Vogt went on earnestly begging and praying: "Heinrich! Heinrich! Tell me what is the matter! Can't I help you?"
Sickel gazed thoughtfully at the two friends. He remembered the moment of departure, and how gay and merry the two gunners had been together. Suddenly he turned his head to one side and listened.