“We must wait, Dick,” he said at last. “Surely they will come in search of us soon.”
Chapter Six.
The sun shone down hotter and hotter, and all was still but the twittering of a bird at times. Dick took the blanket he had wrapped about him overnight and spread it over two pieces of rock so as to form a screen, propping it a little with a broken bough or two. So long as he was busy doing little things for the Colonel, Dick did not seem to mind so much, but just when the sun was highest and it was hotter than ever in the valley, the poor Colonel grew more feverish. He asked for water often, and then all at once the boy felt frightened, for the wounded man began to talk and mutter wildly: then he began to shout to his men to come on and charge, and at last poor Dick broke down. Hunger, misery, loneliness and the heat, were too much for him: the wild nature of the Colonel’s words, and his fierce look when he felt for and waved his sword, making the little fellow shrink away and go and sit behind a stone, his head aching, and the terrible solitude there amongst the mountains seeming more than he could bear.
But as the evening came on and a soft breeze sprang up, a change came over the wounded man, and Dick heard himself called.
He crept back to the Colonel’s side, and the wounded man took his hand, and he said, “Can you be brave and strong?”
“No, sir,” faltered the boy, with his lip quivering, “but I’ll try to be.”
“That is being brave, my boy. Now look here, I have been asleep, and dreaming wild things, but I am cool and calm now. Listen to me. You are faint and hungry, and you must not stay here any longer. You must go.”
“But I can’t leave you all alone, sir.”