“What’s that?” said Pen sharply. “If ever you get back to the ranks again! Why, you are not going to set up a faint heart, are you?”
“’Tain’t my heart’s faint, but my head feels sick and swimmy. But, I say, do you think you ought to do any more about stopping up the hole so as to give a fellow a chance?”
“I’ll do all I can, Punch,” said Pen; “but you know I’m not a surgeon.”
“Course I do,” said the boy, laughing, but evidently fighting hard to hide his suffering. “You are better than a doctor.”
“Better, eh?”
“Yes, ever so much, because you are here and the doctor isn’t.”
The boy lay silent for a few minutes, evidently thinking deeply.
“I say, private,” he said at last, “I can’t settle this all out about what’s going to be done; but I think this will be best.”
“What?”
“What I said before. You had better wait till night, and then creep off and follow our men’s track. It will be awkward in the dark, but you ought to be able to find out somehow, because there’s only one road all along by the side of this little river. You just keep along that while it’s dark, and trust to luck when it’s daytime again. Only, look here, my water-bottle’s empty, so, as soon as you think it’s dark enough, down you go to the river, fill it, and bring it back, and I shall be all right till our fellows fight their way back and pick me up.”