The hospital steward forced a draught of medicine down the wounded man's throat.
Quickly the sixty men were detailed, those who had been on sick report lately, or those who for any other reason were unfitted for a long, swift march being rejected.
"Detachment, fall out," ordered Lieutenant Prescott. "Sergeant Overton, see to the equipping of the men for this hike. Don't let any man idle any time away. I'll soon be with you in barracks, for minutes may be invaluable."
Edwards had fallen back once more, lying with his eyes closed. The hospital steward, one hand on the wounded one's pulse, looked at Captain Cortland and shook his head.
"Mr. Edwards," called the captain.
There was no answer.
"Is he dead?" asked the post commander in a low voice.
"No, sir, but he is unconscious and there's only a feeble flutter at the pulse."
As if to prove that he was still conscious, Edwards's lips tried to frame the words:
"Thank heav——"