They ran down the road and toward the railroad dump where they saw a crowd of men. The Sergeant, followed by Cameron, pushed his way through and found a number of navvies frantically tearing at a pile of jagged blocks of rock under which could be seen a human body. It took only a few minutes to remove the rocks and to discover lying there a young man, a mere lad, from whose mangled and bleeding body the life appeared to have fled.
As they stood about him, a huge giant of a man came tearing his way through the crowd, pushing men to right and left.
“Let me see him,” he cried, dropping on his knees. “Oh Jack, lad, they have done for you this time.”
As he spoke the boy opened his eyes, looked upon the face of his friend, smiled and lay still. Then the Sergeant took command.
“Is the doctor back, does anyone know?”
“No, he's up the line yet. He is coming in on number seven.”
“Well, we must get this man to the hospital. Here, you,” he said, touching a man on the arm, “run and tell the nurse we are bringing a wounded man.”
They improvised a stretcher and laid the mangled form upon it the blood streaming from wounds in his legs and trickling from his pallid lips.
“Here, two men are better than four. Cameron, you take the head, and you,” pointing to Jack's friend, “take his feet. Steady now! I'll just go before. This is a ghastly sight.”
At the door of the hospital tent the little nurse met them, pale, but ready for service.