‘I reckon something must hev struck me,’ returned Ephraim, as though he were now receiving news of his wound for the first time. ‘Thar’s sech a heap er things flying around these days, ye can’t tell whar they come from or whar they go ter.’
‘This is no bullet wound, though,’ said the corporal, examining it again. ‘It’s been done by a bayonet.—Come, you, tell us what happened. Did you meet the Reb?’ For he noted that Ephraim was clad in the Federal blue.
‘I ’magine it must hev been suthin’ er thet sort,’ replied Ephraim cautiously. ‘Ennyway, I run up agin suthin’ or somebody, and thet’s the fact.’
‘Where did it happen?’ asked the corporal.
‘Somewhar round. It mought hev been hyar and it mought hev been thar. I can’t ezackly say.’
‘Did your assailant bolt after wounding you?’ was the corporal’s next question.
‘I didn’t stop ter see,’ began Ephraim, when a loud shout close by announced that the question had received a practical answer by the discovery of the body of Sergeant Mason.
‘Hi! Help!’ shouted a voice. ‘Thar’s a dead soldier over hyar. No, he ain’t dead; but he’s got it pretty bad. Help!’
The corporal rushed in the direction of the hail, and the soldiers hurried Ephraim after him. Presently they came to the scene of the late scrimmage, where the sergeant still lay upon his back, moaning faintly.
‘Why, if it isn’t Sergeant Mason!’ cried the corporal, bending over the prostrate man.—‘Did you do this?’ he demanded fiercely, straightening up and facing Ephraim.