et it thoroughly from his canteen. Then he
unloosed the belt, and opened wide his coat.

He sprinkled the face from the wet handkerchief, and then bathed it
very patiently for half an hour. At the end of this time the patient
opened his eyes, slowly at first, and soon had them wide open. He
recovered his consciousness later, and complained of a nausea at his
stomach, and he continued to have an increase of the symptom till he
had discharged the contents of that member.

"I feel better," said he very faintly, as he looked about him, and
seemed to be bewildered. "Who are you?" he inquired; for it was too
dark by this time for him to see anything distinctly.

"I am Sergeant Fronklyn," replied his attentive nurse. "Don't you know
me, Lieutenant Lyon?"

"I should know you if I could see your face," replied Deck with a
stronger voice.

"It is becoming rather dark about here. Have you any pain, Lieutenant?"
inquired the sergeant.

"None of any consequence, Fronklyn; but my head aches," answered Deck.
"Where do I happen to be just now?"

"Don't you remember what took place an hour ago, or more?"

"I have an idea that I was in a fight; but it all came to an end very
suddenly," replied Deck, raising his head, and then sitting up on the
ground.

"You were in a sharp fight, and you have lain here like a log for half
an hour or more. I was afraid that you had been killed; but I thank God
with all my heart and soul that you are still living," said Fronklyn
very devoutly.

"Some of it comes back to me now," said the patient, as he looked about
him as if to ascertain where he was; for his companion had not informed
him on this point. "I had just struck down a trooper with my sabre when
I heard the tramp of a horse behind me. I was about to wheel so as to
face him, when I felt a blow on my head, and I can remember nothing
more."

"You fell on the field, as I had before you."

"Are you wounded, Fronklyn?"

"I am slightly; and my case seems to be something like yours, though it
was a pistol-ball that brought me down. I saw the trooper aim a great
horse-pistol that might have been a hundred years old, and I have no
doubt that the bullet was as big as they fire in those ancient
flint-lock muskets. It stunned me for the moment; but I was on my feet
at once, and saw you fall," the sergeant explained.

"Are you much hurt, Fronklyn?" asked Deck.

"Only a flesh-wound that will heal up in a week, or less. When I can
get at my