"My man, there, run for a hospital steward," shouted Captain Cortland. Then the post commander came to the wounded stranger.
Now that he found himself at the end of his journey the stranger appeared to lose rapidly the strength of his voice. He lay back in the chair, his eyes half closed.
"Where do you come from, friend?" asked Captain Cortland.
"The Seaforth Plantation."
"I know where the place is—twelve miles from here, in the interior," answered the captain.
"Right," murmured the wounded one.
"Your name?"
"Edwards. I'm bookkeeper and correspondent for Mr. Seaforth."
"Platoon fours right, march!" sounded from the parade ground.
Edwards heard the command, then the steady whump-whump of the feet of marching men. The wounded man turned in his chair and gazed at the detachment marching away in quick time behind Lieutenant Holmes.