"Quoi donc? What?"
"My brother. I must take him."
"Dead?"
"My God!" gasped Jim at the word, as all that would mean to them all flashed upon him. "No, no! I hope not--only wounded."
"We cannot take him,"
"We must."
The Russian used language, then called to one of his men, who sulkily took Jack's limp legs while Jim took him under the arms, and they stumbled away downhill, leaving a strong force in possession of the Ovens.
Skirting a dark sheet of water, they came on a road where some rough carts were waiting. The wounded were bundled into them, and a place found for Jack, and Jim trudged behind with his hand on the tail of the cart, and his heart full of bitterness. Their fun had become, of a sudden, grimmest earnest.
They turned to the right over a bridge, where many lights gleamed on the water in front, and so came at last to a great building which proved to be the hospital.