se one after the other, the
cartridges were shaken out over the ground, and Willy's face at once
cleared up as he ran forward lightened of his load.

They had passed almost through the narrow skirt of woods where the
first attack was made, when they heard some one not far from the side
of the road call, "Water!"

The boys stopped. "What's that?" they asked each other in a startled
undertone. A groan came from the same direction, and a voice said,
"Oh, for some water!"

A short, whispered consultation was held.

"He's right up on that bank. There's a road up there."

Frank advanced a little; a man was lying somewhat propped up against a
tree. His eyes were closed, and there was a ghastly wound in his head.

"Willy, it's a Yankee, and he's shot."

"Is he dead?" asked the others, in awed voices.

"No. Let's ask him if he's hurt much."

They all approached him. His eyes were shut and his face was ashy
white.

"Willy, it's _my_ Yankee!" exclaimed Frank.

The wounded man moved his hand at the sound of the voices.

"Water," he murmured. "Bring me water, for pity's sake!"

"I'll get you some,--don't you know me? Let me have your canteen,"
said Frank, stooping and taking hold of the canteen. It was held by
its strap; but the boy whipped out a knife and cut it loose.

The man tried to speak; but the boys could not understand him.

"Where are you goin' get it, Frank?" asked the other boys.

"At the branch down there that runs into the creek."

"The Yankees'll shoot you down there," objected Peter and Willy.

"_I_ ain' gwine that way," said Cole.

The soldier groaned.

"_I'll_ go with you, Frank," said Willy, who could not stand the sight
of the man's suffering.

"We'll be back directly."

The two boys darted off, the others following them at a little
distance. They reached the open field. The shooting was still going on
in the woods on the other side, but they no longer thought of it. They
ran down the hill and dashed across the little flat to the branch at
the nearest point, washed the blood from the canteen, and filled it
with the cool water.

"I wish we had something to wash his face with," sighed Willy, "but I
haven't got a handkerchief."

"Neither have I." Willy looked thoughtful. A second more and he had
stripped off his light sailor's jacket and dipped it in the water. The
next minute the two boys were running up the hill again.

When they reached the spot where the wounded man lay, he had sl