ittle torrent and high up
the steep, precipitous bank before him he could see a goat contentedly
browsing upon the tender green twigs of the bushes; while, at his next
movement, as he tried to raise himself a little more, there within
touch, and half behind him, lay the companion whose very existence had
been blotted out of his mind; and he uttered a cry of joy--or rather
felt that he did, for the sound was covered by the roar of the falling
water--and dragged himself painfully to where he could lay one hand upon
the bugle-boy's breast.

"Why, Punch," he felt that he cried, as the events of the past hours
came back with a rush, "I thought I'd lost you. No, I fancied--I--Here,
am I going mad?"

He felt that he shouted that question aloud, and then, sending a pang
through his strained shoulder, he clapped his hands to his forehead and
looked down wildly at the still insensible boy.

"Here, Punch! Punch!" he repeated inaudibly. "Speak--answer! I--oh,
how stupid!" he muttered--"I am awake, and it is the roar of that water
that seems to sweep away every other sound. Yes, that must be it;" for
just then he saw that the goat had raised its head as it gazed across at
him, and stretched out its neck.

"Why, it's bleating," he said to himself, "and I can't hear a sound."

The efforts he had made seemed to enable him to think more clearly, and
his next act was to rise to his knees stiffly and painfully, and then
begin to work his joints a little before bending over his companion and
shrinkingly laying his hand upon his breast.

This had the desired effect--one which sent a strange feeling of relief
through the young private's breast--for the wondering, questioning eyes
he now met looked bright and intelligent, making him bend lower till he
could speak loudly in the boy's ear the simple question, "How are you?"

He could hardly hear the words himself, but that they had been heard by
him for whom they were intended was evident, for Punch's lips moved in
reply, and the next moment, to Pen's delight, he raised one hand to his
parched lips and made a sign as of drinking.

"Ah, you are better!" cried Pen excitedly, and this time he felt that he
almost heard his own words above the deep-toned, musical roar.

CHAPTER SIX.

PEN'S PATIENT.

Punch's appealing sign was sufficient to chase away the imaginative
notions that had beset Pen's awakening. His hand went at once to the
water-bottle slung to his side, and, as he