The crowd of sufferers took up the quivering cry, and all around the tent spread the story of G. W.'s bravery.
A surgeon glanced up—then with an exclamation rushed forward.
"Austin!" he shouted. "Austin, let go of him, the boy is fainting! Here, some one, lift G. W.! I've got the Colonel!"
That was all. For little G. W. the lights went out. The voices melted into silence. The Colonel was safe! All was right.
X.
IN THE TENT HOSPITAL.
There were long, troubled dreams for little G. W.—dreams that were unlike those which used to come and cheer him in camp before he had given up his hopes of being a hero. These were full of terror—a longing for water, and visions of his dear Colonel wounded and dying.
Sometimes a skulking figure, leaf-covered and terrible, stalked through those pain-filled visions. Then he would shout for his gun. But always when he cried aloud, a voice familiar but distant called upon him to be calm and trust some one, whose name he had forgotten.
At last there came a day when the dreams began to fade. Voices not so distant reached him. Then he tasted water, for the first time, he thought, in years!