They were driving them, and after the fight,
those same lads would come back, tender as women, and care for us. It
was not so bad within, now the smoke was drifting away, and nothing
really hurt me except my shoulder. It was the body lying half across me
that held me prone, and I struggled vainly to roll it to one side. But I
had no strength, and the effort was vain. The pain made me writhe and
moan, my face beaded with perspiration. A wounded man lifted his arm
from out a tangled heap of dead, and fired a revolver up into the
ceiling; I saw the bullet tear through the plaster, and the hand sink
back nerveless, the fingers dropping the weapon. The sounds of battle
were dying away to the eastward; I could distinguish the volleys of
musketry from the roar of the big guns. I worked my head about, little
by little, until I was able to see the face of the man lying across me.
It was ghastly white, except where blood discolored his cheek, and I
stared without recognition. Then I knew he must be Miles. Oh, yes, I
remembered; he had come up at the very last, he and another man, and one
had been knocked down when the stair-rail broke. I wondered how they
came to be there; who the other man was. I felt sorry for Miles, sorry
for that girl back in Illinois he had told me about.
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