The ball from De Banyan’s pistol had passed through the right side of the officer; and he sank upon the floor, the blood flowing copiously from the wound. These proceedings were so irregular, that Somers could not reconcile himself to them. He was wounded himself; but, when the officer fell, he was full of sympathy for him. It was evident that the sufferer would bleed to death in a short time, if left to himself without any attention; and Somers could not endure the thought of letting even an enemy die in this forsaken condition.
“Come, my boy; we have no time to lose. It’s daylight now, and we ought to be five miles from the city before this time,” said De Banyan, as he moved towards the stairs. “Take the man’s pistol and ammunition, and come along as fast as you can.”
“Will you leave this gentleman in this condition?” asked Somers, gazing with pitying tenderness at the pale face of the fallen officer.
“Leave him? Of course; we can’t take him with us.”
“But he will bleed to death if we leave him here.”
“Let him bleed to death; I can’t help that. Many a better man than he has bled to death since this war began. Come along, Somers! What is the matter with your arm?” demanded he, when he saw that it hung useless at his side.
“I was hit.”
“Hit! We are lost, then!”
“No, we are not lost, either. I am not killed,” replied Somers, whose arm was still numb from the effect of the shot.
“That’s a misfortune. I am afraid it will spoil everything. Can you sit on a horse?”