G. W. stumbled onward and reached the tree, put his arm about the officer, and carefully held the canteen to his lips. A gurgle, the water was drained to the last drop; and then, oh, joy! the heavy eyes opened.

It did not seem strange to Colonel Austin to see G. W.'s dusky face. It was but part of the troubled dream that held his heated brain.

"Hello, comrade!" he said. "Just tell them I couldn't see the little Corporal die. There was only room for one. He was crying for his mother, and he had been brave all day. The Boy and his Mother will—understand—by and by."

"Now you see heah, Colonel," said poor little G. W. "You jes' stop dat kind ob talk. Your laigs ain't hurt—it's your chist, an' you'se got ter git up an' come along!"

G. W.'s voice was full of fright and determination combined.

"No use, G. W.," groaned the Colonel. "I tried it, and fell. Help will be sent back, but it will be too late, my boy."

"You get up, sah!" persisted G. W. "You'se got ter make a move fur de Boy an' his Mother! I'se goin' ter sabe yo' fur dem, sah, like I swar to. Now stan' up, sah!"

Colonel Austin staggered to his feet, leaning upon the little shoulder.

The water had revived him, and G. W.'s words had recalled him to a sacred duty.

The wound in his breast began to bleed again, and the crimson drops fell upon G. W. The man's weight, too, almost bowed the little boy down. But he set his teeth and smiled grimly. The undertaking seemed nearly big enough for a hero to tackle—and here he was just a disobedient, dishonored little black boy!

"You'se doin' fine!" G. W. said, whenever Colonel Austin's steps flagged; "you'se done a mile mos', Colonel; dere ain't but a step or two furder. Lean heavy, Colonel,—yo' jes' ain't no heft at all!" And all the while the keen eyes were searching the underbrush for another leaf-clothed foe.

Once they stopped so that G. W. might tear his shirt in strips and bind it roughly over the bleeding wound. The blessed letter from up North fell out upon the ground. G. W. clutched it and put it in his trousers pocket; the sight of it gave him fresh strength.

Stumbling and swaying, the two went on again. No help came along the road. But dust-covered and near to death, the comrades at length reached the field hospital.

It was growing dark when they came into the open space. Lanterns were hanging around the great rough table, and the restless figures were still moving about. With rising hope little G. W. made a last rally. "Come on, Colonel," he panted; "you jes' hang on to me. We'se all right now. Only you jes' come faster, Colonel! You jes' run now, Colonel,—dere ain't no call ter act so back'ard here,—you'se on de road home!"

The fainting man heard the brave soft voice, and he braced up and struggled yet again.

They were nearing the tent opening, the lanterns flashed, and the moonlight fell full upon their faces. A soldier among the many who were lying out under the stars saw them and cried out:

"Look, boys! It's Colonel Austin and G. W."

"Yes, sah!" the boy said simply. "I'se got de Colonel! here's de Colonel!"

"Three cheers for G. W!" cried a weak voice. "G. W.'s saved the Colonel!"

The crowd of sufferers took up the quivering cry, and all around the tent spread the story of G. W.'s bravery.

A surgeon glanced up—then with an exclamation rushed forward.

"Austin!" he shouted. "Austin, let go of him, the boy is fainting! Here, some one, lift G. W.! I've got the Colonel!"

That was all. For little G. W. the lights went out. The voices melted into silence. The Colonel was safe! All was right.