"Just exactly my way of looking at it, Major," answered Life, to whom the backwoods manner of talking was now a thing of the past. Deck had taught him how to speak correctly, and for this the tall Kentuckian was exceedingly grateful. He often declared that it was Deck who had made him fit to be an officer under Uncle Sam.
"General Sheridan is bound to uncover the enemy's full force," went on the major, as he urged Ceph to make a sturdy leap over a strong running brook. "If we—hullo, what's this?"
He stopped short, as Ceph swerved to one side, almost unseating him. This movement, on the part of the intelligent horse, was so unusual Deck knew at once something must be wrong. "What is it, Ceph?" he questioned, patting the steed on the neck.
For reply the horse turned about and pointed his nose toward the meadow grass which he had just trodden. The major leaped down and peered into the semi-darkness.
"A Confederate captain, seriously wounded or dead," he cried to Life. "Poor fellow, he is hardly more than a boy," he went on, gazing on the pale, youthful face, along one side of which the blood had flowed and dried. "Perhaps we can do something for him," and he knelt over the prostrate body.
Life also came to the spot, and between them they raised the boyish captain up. As they did this, he opened his eyes and gave a gasp.
"Water!" he murmured. "Water!"
Plenty of water was handy, and filling his canteen, Deck gave the wounded one a drink and bathed his face, after which he started to bind up the injured head with his handkerchief.
"It's no use, I'm going to die," gasped the Confederate, not able to speak above a whisper. "Are you—you Southern men?"
"We belong to the Kentucky troops," answered Deck.