[CHAPTER XVII]
Victory
Clem Stapley stood leaning on his rifle gazing far away over the green fields and woodlands of that beautiful, rolling country, not unlike his own homeland. The boy’s thoughts were filled with memories, the reaction from the strenuous experiences of the minutes just past caused him to sway a little on his feet. His company’s second-lieutenant, passing near, turned and look into the boy’s pale face.
“Hurt eh? Can you walk? Better get back—”
“No, sir. No! Only a trifle. A scratch on the arm; spent bullet went up my sleeve like one of those black ants. I shook it out.”
“Let me see,” ordered the officer. Clem bared his arm and showed a long white and blue welt from wrist to elbow. On the fleshy part the skin had broken, and blood was trickling down.
“Go get it bandaged.”
“I can do it, if someone—”
“Help him, Terry. Get his jacket and shirt off. Use a little iodine. You’ll be all right.”