"Who goes there?" shouted a voice, and two German officers rode up.
It was far too dark, now, to distinguish faces.
"Karl Zimmerman, of the Seventh Dragoons," Ralph said, in German, saluting.
"What are you doing here?"
"I am servant to Lieutenant Falchen, who fell today; and I had been to look for his body. It was somewhere about here, when we charged the gray Zouaves."
"But your regiment is miles off," one of the officers said. "I saw them an hour ago."
"I don't know where they are, sir," Ralph said, "for I had my head laid open, with a sword bayonet, just as I was cutting down the man I had seen shoot my master. I was carried to the rear, but the surgeon had gone on; and my wound stopped of itself and, when I reached the hospital, the doctors were so busy that I asked leave to go, and see if I could find my master."
"Where are the ambulances now?" one of the officers asked, as they turned to ride off.
"Over in that direction. Look, sir, there are some of the searchers, with lanterns. They will direct you, at once."
"Thanks," the officer said, riding off; "good luck in your search."