It was like coming back to life. In an instant Pen felt full of energy and excitement once more. The pangs of hunger supplemented those of thirst; and, almost raging against them now, he felt that he must fight, and he rose with an effort to his feet, with the tingling numbness feeling for the moment worse than ever, but only to prick and spur him into action.
“Ah!” he ejaculated, “it is like life coming back.” Turning to where his comrade lay breathing heavily, he snatched off the leafy twigs with which he had sheltered him.
“Asleep, Punch?” he said; but he was only answered by a low sigh.
“Poor boy!” he muttered; “but I must.”
He snatched off, full of energy now, his jacket and overcoat, and resumed them. Then, picking up his rifle, he slackened the sling and passed it over his shoulder. In doing this he kicked against the bugle, and slung the cord across the other shoulder. Then, tightening the strap of his shako beneath his chin, he drew a deep breath and looked first in the one direction and then in another in search of the vedettes; but all was darkness for a while, and he was beginning to feel the calm of certainty as regarded their being perfectly free from observation, when, from the nearest point where he had made out the watchers, he suddenly became aware of how close one party was by seeing the faint spark of light which the next minute deepened into a glow, and the wind wafted to his nostrils the odour of coarse, strong tobacco.
“Ah, nearer than I thought,” said the lad to himself, and, looking round once more, he made out another faint glow of light; and then, bending over his comrade, he felt about for his hands and glided his own to the boy’s wrists, which felt dank and cold, as he stood thinking for a moment or two of the poor fellow’s condition.
“I can’t help it. My only hope is that he is quite insensible to pain. He must be, or he couldn’t sleep like this. It must be done.”
Pen’s plans had been carefully laid, and he had not anticipated any difficulty.
“It’s only a matter of strength,” he said to himself, “and I feel desperate and strong enough now to do anything.”
But it meant several failures, and he was checked by groan after groan before he at last managed to seat himself with his back to the wounded boy, after propping him up against one of the gnarled little oak-trunks amongst which they had been lying.