Both Jack and Dick had been struck. Jack was the first to recover. Reviving, he struggled out of the clasp of his unconscious comrade. "He's hit bad," he said to himself, "and so am I. I'll fight it out to the last, and if they charge they won't get us alive."
Dick groaned and opened his eyes.
"I'm hit hard," he whispered, "you'd better go."
Jack was on his hands and knees crawling toward his rifle when his comrade spoke.
"Listen," he replied. "We're both fixed to stay now, so lie close. I'll hold 'em off as long as I can, but if they rush, save one shot for yourself—you understand?"
"Yes, not alive!" answered Dick weakly, his voice thin and his face ashen white with pain.
Jack reached the boulder, and with an effort raised himself and peered over the edge.
"They're getting ready. Will you take my hand now?" he asked, as he held it out to Dick.
"I sure will," his wounded comrade cried, grasping it with all the strength he possessed.
Jack smiled in his happiness. He felt he had made his peace with all men and at last was ready to meet death with a clear conscience.