"Tell them what?"
"How I ... was wounded?"
"No." I replied coldly. "I told no one."
My glance mechanically sought his hand. He explained:
"Two fingers gone, that's all! I've asked them not to discharge me, as I can hold my rifle! I've been waiting for you here for two days...."
He began again:
"Sergeant, I was watching for you ... I wanted to see you before the others ... because ... because...."
He swallowed:
"If the thing had got about ... I should have put a bullet through my head!"
His tone was abrupt, and sincere. A man who would recover himself. Why could I not find a hearty word for him?