p hangs above, and its light falls full upon the face
of the man whom he is seeking.

Ah! where are they? His furious anger and his deadly hate, where are they
now? Like snow upon the desert they vanish away. How can one rage against
this shattered thing, stretched on the pallet of the low cot-bed from
which the blankets have been stripped away? First Aid bandages have been
not ineffectually applied. Fragments of packing-case have been employed as
splints for the broken arm and shattered hand, but, in spite of all that
has been done, the beautiful young life is sinking, waning, flowing out
with that ruddy tide that will not be stayed.

The greenish pallor and the sweat of mortal agony are upon the face of
Beauvayse, thrown back upon the pillow, and looking upwards to where the
deluging rain makes thunder on the tarpaulined roof. The atmosphere is
heavy with the sour-sickly smell of blood, and lamp-fumes; he draws each
breath laboriously, and exhales it with a whistling sound. Through his
clenched teeth, revealed by the lips that are dragged back in the
semi-grin of desperate agony, that dumb, ceaseless moaning makes its way
despite the gallant effort to restrain it. The one uninjured arm hangs
downwards, its restless fingers picking at the bloodstained matting that
covers the loose boards of the floor. A sheet has been lightly laid over
him. It is dabbled with the prevailing hue, and sinks in an ominous hollow
below the breast. And beyond the bottom of it splashed leggings and muddy
boots with spurs on them stick out with helpless stiffness.

A flask of brandy--a precious restorative treasured for use in such
desperate need as this--stands with a tumbler and a jug of water on the
camp washstand that is between the two cot-beds. Upon the second bed sits
a big and stoutish man, whose large face, not pink just now, is hidden in
his thick, quivering hands. It is Captain Bingo Wrynche, heavy Dragoon,
and honest, single-hearted gentleman, to whom belongs the blown and muddy
charger drooping in the loose-box outside. The telephone has summoned him
in haste from Hotchkiss Outpost North, to see the last of a friend.

XLIX

"It was just before the rainstorm that it happened. He was on the lookout.
They have been moving the big gun and the 16-pounder Krupps again, and
some of the laagers seem to be shifting, so we have kept an extra eye open
of late, by night as well as by day. He was very keen always...."

Already he