"Where am I hit?"
"It is on the left arm, colonel. An Austrian cannonball did the business. If it had been three or four inches farther to the right, it would have finished you. As it is, I hope that you will soon get about again."
"Then it has taken off my arm," Fergus said feebly.
"Better that than your head, sir. The left arm is of no great account, except for holding a bridle; and there is a good bit of it left.
"Drink a little more of this brandy and water. How do you feel now, sir?"
"I feel cold," Fergus replied. "My feet are like ice."
Karl wrapped Fergus's fur-lined pelisse round his feet, undid his blanket and cloak from his saddle, and laid them over him.
"That will be better, sir. Now, if you will promise to lie quite quiet, I will fasten your horse up--I don't know what has become of mine--and will go and collect some firewood and get up a good blaze. I am afraid there is no chance of getting you into a shelter, tonight."
"I am afraid we are being driven down the hill again, Karl. The roll of musketry is coming nearer."
"That is so, colonel; but we shall have the cavalry up soon, and that will make all the difference."