“No, sir; I was only thinking about what I ought to do now. Just stand aside, and let me come.”
“What for?”
“Well, sir, that’s what I don’t know. Ought I to—? You see, he’s an enemy.”
“Samson, we can’t leave him here, poor fellow! He may die for want of attention.”
“Well, sir, then there’d be one enemy the less.”
“Yes. Shall we leave him to die?”
“No, sir; that we won’t,” said Samson, severely. “We’ve got to make him prisoner, taking him up to my quarters, let the doctor make him well, and then I’ve got to spend an hour with him, just to set him to rights and pay him all I owe. Here, you sir, do you know who I am?”
“Yes,” said the wounded man, feebly.
“Then look here; you’ve got to come on my back, and I’m going to carry you up to the camp.”
“Master Fred.”