But the last shot had stricken down brave, generous, light-hearted Rollo Van Kyp just as he had covered himself with glory and was within a hair's-breadth of safety; for, as Lieutenant Norris knelt anxiously beside his friend, the gallant young trooper lay as though dead, with blood streaming over his face.
CHAPTER XXIX
TWO INVALID HEROES
Rollo Van Kyp, carefully lifted from the bloody trench in which he had fought and suffered so cheerfully, was borne to the rear, and the assistant surgeon of his regiment accompanied him to the hospital at Siboney. Ridge Norris wanted to do this, but his duties would not permit of his absence, for officers were becoming scarce, and as yet no one knew but that the fighting might be resumed at any moment. So he watched the departure of the ambulance with a heavy heart, and the whole troop shared his sorrow at the loss of their well-loved comrade.
The next day the assistant surgeon returned and reported Rollo's wound apparently so serious that there was little hope for him. "There was just one chance," he added, in answer to Lieutenant Norris's anxious inquiry for details, "and, by good luck, I secured it for him at the last moment. He would surely have died in Siboney, but if he can get home and into a Northern hospital he may pull through. By the greatest good fortune a Red Cross ship was about to start for the States with a number of the worst cases; and, just as she was sailing, I managed to get Van Kyp aboard. She was so crowded that they weren't going to take him, until her skipper--as big-hearted a Yankee sailorman as ever trod a deck--said he would give up his own cabin rather than have a Rough Rider left behind to die."
"What was his name?" asked Ridge.
"Haven't an idea."
"Do you know the name of the ship?"
"Yes, of course. She is the Gray Nun, a converted yacht."