He looked in the direction from whence the voice seemed to come, and saw a man in an American officer’s uniform stretched out upon the ground. His face was smeared with mud and blood and was distorted in mortal agony.
Tom ran to his side. He was tugging at his blouse, as though to open it. Tom gazed into his face again, and then gave a gasp of shock and astonishment.
“Why, Major,” he gulped, “Major Sweeney, are you badly hurt?”
The officer tried to answer, just the effort of a smile flickered for a moment on his swollen lips, and he weakly motioned toward Tom’s water flask.
A few swallows seemed to relieve him a little, and with his head pillowed in Tom’s arm he tried to move a bit, but it was no use. The attempt was too painful, and he was fearfully weak. Tom instantly realized that. He looked around desperately for help, but there was none immediately at hand. The major, evidently divining his intention, gave a slight wave of the hand. It expressed much. It was the inborn heroism of the man—the man under whom Tom had trained and come over seas, the man for whom he had the greatest respect and the deepest affection.
“In there,” the major gasped, after a terrible effort, motioning toward an inner pocket. “Important papers—took them from German—officer.”
Tom reached into the pocket and extracted what seemed to be a packet of maps and instructions. Major Sweeney was lapsing into unconsciousness, but he rallied himself with a great effort, and, in a voice which Tom now had to lean close to hear, he continued:
“Take them—to—brigade head—quarters,” he reached feebly and let his own quivering hand drop upon Tom’s. “Tell them—Major Sweeney—sends—his—respects and he’s—going west.”
The voice ceased, the big frame quivered slightly for just the fraction of an instant, and then lay still. Tom Walton knew that for his brave major the end had come. Gently he laid the form upon the ground. Tears were running down his cheeks. Tenderly, as though it had been his own father, he smoothed back the matted hair.
“Major Sweeney,” he repeated, in a choked whisper. “Gone west.”