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.Then up the height rang out a shrill cry, some word of command in a voice that had a familiar tang to it, and that was almost instantly obeyed, for, under cover of sharp, well-aimed fire from aloft, from the shelter of projecting rock or stranded bowlder, again there leaped into sight a few scattered, sinewy forms that rushed in bewildering zigzag up the steep, until safe beyond their supports, when they, too, vanished, and again the cliff stood barren of Apache foemen as the level of the garrison parade.It was science in savage warfare against which the drill book of the cavalry taught no method whatsoever.Another minute and even the shots had ceased.One glimpse more had Blakely of dingy, trailing breechclouts, fluttering in the breeze now stirring the fringing pines and cedars, and all that was left of the late besiegers came clattering down the rocks in the shape of an Indian shield.Stern would have scrambled out to nab it, but was ordered down."Back, you idiot, or they'll have you next!" And then they heard the feeble voice of Wren, pleading for water and demanding to be lifted to the light.The uproar of the final volley had roused him from an almost deathlike stupor, and he lay staring, uncomprehending, at Carmody, whose glazing eyes were closed, whose broken words had ceased.The poor fellow was drifting away into the shadows with his story still untold."Watch here, Stern, but keep under cover," cried Blakely."I'll see to the captain.Listen for any shot or sound, but hold your fire," and then he turned to his barely conscious senior and spoke to him as he would to a helpless child.Again he poured a little brandy in his cup.Again he held it to ashen lips and presently saw the faint flutter of reviving strength."Lie still just a moment or two, Wren," he murmured soothingly."Lie still.Somebody's coming.The troop is not far off.You'll soon have help and home and—Angela"—even then his tongue faltered at her name.And Wren heard and with eager eyes questioned imploringly.The quivering lips repeated huskily the name of the child he loved."Angela—where?""Home—safe—where you shall be soon, old fellow, only—brace up now.I must speak one moment with Carmody," and to Carmody eagerly he turned."You were speaking of Elise and the fire—of Downs, sergeant —" His words were slow and clear and distinct, for the soldier had drifted far away and must be recalled."Tell me again.What was it?"But only faint, swift gasping answered him.Carmody either heard not, or, hearing, was already past all possibility of reply."Speak to me, Carmody.Tell me what I can do for you?" he repeated."What word to Elise?" He thought the name might rouse him, and it did.A feeble hand was uplifted, just an inch or two.The eyelids slowly fluttered, and the dim, almost lifeless eyes looked pathetically up into those of the young commander.There was a moment of almost breathless silence, broken only by a faint moan from Wren's tortured lips and the childish whimpering of that other—the half-crazed, terror-stricken soldier."Elise," came the whisper, barely audible, as Carmody strove to lift his head, "she—promised"—but the head sank back on Blakely's knee.Stern was shouting at the stone gate—shouting and springing to his feet and swinging his old scouting hat and gazing wildly down the cañon."For God's sake hush, man!" cried the lieutenant."I must hear Carmody." But Stern was past further shouting now.Sinking on his knees, he was sobbing aloud.Scrambling out into the daylight of the opening, but still shrinking within its shelter, the half-crazed, half-broken soldier stood stretching forth his arms and calling wild words down the echoing gorge, where sounds of shouting, lusty-lunged, and a ringing order or two, and then the clamor of carbine shots, told of the coming of rescue and new life and hope, and food and friends, and still Blakely knelt and circled that dying head with the one arm left him, and pleaded and besought—even commanded.But never again would word or order stir the soldier's willing pulse [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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