Rodney grasped Conrad by the shoulders and another rifleman, with a growl at such folly, seized him by the heels. So it happened that he was laid by the side of Zeb.
By this time the battle raged along the entire front. American reinforcements were coming up and greater reinforcements were being sent to support the British, and Gates was back in his tent thinking it all a small affair.
With nightfall the two armies lay back like panting wolves, exhausted, and, now that there was time, Rodney made sure that both Zeb and Conrad had their wounds dressed.
“The Rangers won glory to-day and bore the brunt of the fighting. It was hot, though.”
“I reckon you’re correct, Rodney. I felt of it an’ found it so,” was Zeb’s reply.
“It is reported about camp that Gates and Arnold have quarrelled, and Arnold was so mad he resigned and Gates accepted it.”
“That so!” Zeb whistled, and then made a wry face on account of the pain in his leg. “That leaves Arnold in a pickle. ’Taint the height o’ military etiquette 234 to resign under fire. I wish Arnold was in command, though.”
“You aren’t the only one who wishes it. Well, I must find that Indian or he won’t forgive me for shooting him.”
“Too bad ye can’t shoot straighter.”
“That’s unkind. When you know him you’ll change your mind.”