With a bound the Frenchman was at the Doctor's side, and while the men lifted till the timber snapped, the two gently drew out the body of the boy; but an ominous sound jarred upon their ears. The bones grated upon each other. Then on a stretcher covered with blankets they gently laid the lad and bore him back to the camp.
"Will he live?" Sir George asked in deep concern.
"No," said the Doctor. "The poor fellow's pelvis is smashed. He may not even become conscious again, for his skull is fractured as well."
"Pray God he may not, then," said Sir George, fervently. "Better to die than live in hopeless agony."
By the time they reached the men's quarters every one in camp knew. They gathered together in groups and discussed the sad event, the first calamity since their arrival in Penetang. A more careful examination corroborated the Doctor's opinion. Consciousness never returned, and by sundown he was dead.
"What about the lad's burial?" Chaplain Evans asked of Sir George before retiring for the night.
"To-morrow is Sunday, let us have it then," was the sorrowful answer. "Reveille at eight, breakfast at nine, full parade at ten, funeral at eleven. Preach the Sunday sermon, Chaplain, and let the boys have a good one. They deserve it. Then we'll give poor Barnes a full rifle salute and taps as well."
"You are right, Colonel," returned the Chaplain; there was moisture between his eyelids; "but it is too bad to have a death in our ranks so soon."
CHAPTER XXIV.
They buried the broken body of Teddy Barnes in a little oak grove on the lower plateau, and the dead leaves on the branches soughed in gentle requiem to the words: