Fix Bay'nets Part 29

"And mountains."

"Pah! Well, at the mountains too, day after day, in this wearisome way.

I hear the bugle and the firing, and sometimes a shout or two, and then I lie wondering what everything means--whether we're driving them away or being beaten, and no one to tell me anything but that dreadful woman; for old Morton thinks of nothing but sword-cuts and bullet-wounds, and will only talk of one's temperature or one's tongue. I tell you it's maddening when one wants to be up and doing something."

"Patience, patience, old man. You're getting better fast."

"How do you know?" cried Bracy petulantly.

"Morton ways so."

"Morton's an old--old--old woman," cried Bracy angrily. "I'm sick of him. I'm sick of that other disagreeable woman. I'm sick of physic-- sick of everything."

"Poor old chap!" said Roberts, laying his cool hand upon his friend's burning forehead. "Come, you'll feel better after that."

"Don't--don't talk that way--and take away your hand. You make me feel as if I must hit you."

"I wish you would, old man, if it would make you feel better."

"Better! Pah! It's horrible. Morton only talks. Says I'm better when I'm worse."

"Oh, come now, that won't do, you know. You are stronger."

"Pah! How can I be stronger when I am as weak as a baby, unable to move hand or foot? There; I beg pardon for being so disagreeable."

"Oh, nonsense! Who thinks you disagreeable?"

"You do, Rob; only you're such a good old chap that you won't notice my sick man's whims."

"Love 'em," said Roberts coolly. "More you go it the better I like it, because it's all a sign of the spirit in you kicking against your weakness. I know how you feel--want to come and have another go in at the Dwats?"

"Yes," said Bracy in a sharp whisper through his closed teeth. "I do long to help give them an awful thras.h.i.+ng."

"Of course you do, my boy; and you shall soon. Now, if, instead of kicking against hospital routine, you took to it in a mean, spiritless sort of way, and lay there waiting to be roused up to speak, I should feel uncomfortable about you, for I should know it was a bad sign.-- You'll be all right soon."

Bracy was silent for a few minutes, and lay gazing wistfully through the window at the dazzling snow-peaks flas.h.i.+ng miles away in the bright suns.h.i.+ne. Then he shook his head slowly from side to side.

"It's of no use to be self-deceiving," he said at last. "I know as well as can be, Rob, what's wrong. I'm not going to die."

"Die? Ha, ha! I should think not. Take more than a bullet-hole to kill you."

Bracy smiled, and looked sadly in his friend's eyes.

"It's precious hard, old fellow," he said; "for as I lie here I feel that I'm almost a boy still, and it comes so soon."

"What comes so soon?"

"My big trouble, old fellow. Morton won't say a word about it; but I know."

"Come now; what do you know? You lie awake imagining all sorts of things."

"But I don't imagine that. You can see it for yourself. I'm strong enough in mind, but the weakness of body is terrible."

"Of course it is. You have had a hole right through you, made by a rough piece of iron fired from a gun; but it's healing up fast."

"Yes," said Bracy, with a sigh, "the wound is healing up fast."

"Then, what more do you want?"

"My old manly strength," cried the sufferer with energy. "This horrible, helpless weakness!"

"Dull! What an unreasonable patient you are!" cried Roberts. "How can you expect the strength to come till the wound is healed?"

"I don't expect it," sighed the poor fellow. "Roberts, old man, it will never come back. My spine was injured by that bullet."

"Yes; we know that."

"And it has affected the nerves so that I am going to be helpless for the rest of my life--a poor invalid, whose fate is to be carried about or wheeled everywhere."

"Don't believe it," said Roberts shortly. "Who told you that stuff?"

"My own instinct. You know I cannot move hand or foot."

"Not yet. Nature has bound you down so that your wound may not be disturbed till it is well."

"There, don't talk about it," said Bracy quickly. "I want to know how things are going on. I don't hear half enough."

"All right, old man," cried Roberts cheerfully. "You shall have it in brief. This is a hole--we're in a hole--the Dwats, bless 'em! are like the sand upon the seash.o.r.e, and they come sliding into the hole. Then we shovel 'em out, and just like sand they come trickling down again upon us. Now it's down one of the gullies, now it's down another; and the more we kill the more seem to come on."

"Yes--yes--yes," sighed Bracy; "just as it has been from the first. We ought to have reinforcements."

"That's right, and I dare say some have been sent; but the tribes south and east have all risen, and are holding them in check, so we've got to do the work here ourselves."

"How are the supplies?"

"Tidy--tidy; and we keep on fretting a little game, only it's risky work; and I never feel as if I should get back again when I'm out shooting. Had some narrow escapes."

"What about ammunition?"

"That's all right. Enough for a couple of months yet, fire as hard as we like."

"Why didn't Drummond come to see me yesterday? Ah, I know; he has been wounded."

"Just scratched; that's all. I dare say he'll come in some time to-day."

"Poor fellow! I am sorry."

"He isn't--he's delighted. Goes about with his arm in a sling, showing it to everybody, and telling them about the fight he had with a big Dwat. Says he should have cut him down, only one of our lads was so precious handy with his bayonet and ran him through."