“I did, sir. Dodging round one of the wagons somewhere. It was where the Boers stood a bit, and I got hurt.”
“Could you point out the place?”
“No, sir; it was all dark, and I’m hurt,” said the man faintly.
“Give him some water,” said the captain. “Your hurts shall be seen to soon, my lad. Cheer up, all of you; the major has sent for the ambulance-wagons, so you’ll ride home.”
“Hooray, and thanks, sir!” said the worst wounded man, and then he fainted.
Just then, as the first orange-tipped clouds were appearing far on high, four men were seen approaching, carrying a wounded man slung in Sergeant James’s sash; and as soon as he caught sight of the injured man’s face Major Robson hurried to meet the party.
“Roby! Tut, tut, tut!” he cried. “This is bad work. Not dead, sergeant?”
“No, sir; but he has it badly. Bullet at the top of his forehead; hit him full, and ploughed up through scalp; but as far as I can make out the bone’s not broken.”
“Lay him down, sergeant. How long will it be,” he muttered, “before we get the doctor here? Where did you find him?”
“Lying out yonder all alone, beyond those rocks, sir,” replied the sergeant.