was only pale; very pale and inexpressibly mournful. The wound was in
the abdomen.

"Oh! do not leave me here," he pleaded; "take me to the ambulance, I
beseech you. Take me to the rear."

Rochas endeavored to silence him, and it was on his brutal lips to say
that it was useless to imperil two comrades' lives for one whose wound
was so evidently mortal, when his better nature made its influence
felt and he murmured:

"Be patient for a little, my poor boy, and the litter-bearers will
come and get you."

But the wretched man, whose tears were now flowing, kept crying, as
one distraught that his dream of happiness was vanishing with his
trickling life-blood:

"Take me away, take me away--"

Finally Captain Beaudoin, whose already unstrung nerves were further
irritated by his pitiful cries, called for two volunteers to carry him
to a little piece of woods a short way off where a flying ambulance
had been established. Chouteau and Loubet jumped to their feet
simultaneously, anticipating the others, seized the sergeant, one of
them by the shoulders, the other by the legs, and bore him away on a
run. They had gone but a little way, however, when they felt the body
becoming rigid in the final convulsion; he was dying.

"I say, he's dead," exclaimed Loubet. "Let's leave him here."