Fate Knocks at the Door - A Novel by Will Levington Comfort
page 23 of 413 (05%)
page 23 of 413 (05%)
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"I wish I hadn't," Bedient answered. "The little party of Americans were down when I first saw them. Six or seven of the sixteen were dead; nearly all the rest wounded. The natives had fired from three sides--and would have finished their work with knives, except for Thirteen. The American lieutenant in charge was clear-grained. He had been trying to withdraw toward the town and carry his wounded--think of that. There were not two others besides himself unscathed. I'll never forget him--striding up and down praying and cursing--his first fight, you know--and his boy's voice--'Be cock sure they're dead, fellows, before you leave 'em behind for the bolos!... For the love of God don't leave your bunkies behind for the butchers!' "In a half minute, I saw it all--what a thing for white men to be gathered for slaughter on a trail over here. The boys knew it--and fought horribly against it...." Cairns started to say something about this, but the words didn't come quickly enough, and Bedient went on: "There is a picture of that day which always means _war_ to me. The soldier was hit mortally just as I got to him, but didn't fall at once, as one does when the spine or brain is touched. As my hands went out to him, he got it again and lost his legs, as if they were shot from under. His body, you see, fell the length of his legs. This second bullet was a Remington slug that shattered his hip. He had a full canteen strung over his shoulder, infantry fashion. The bullet that dropped him sitting on the trail, had gone through this to his hip. The canteen was spurting water. Mind you, it was the other wound that was killing him. There he sat dying on the road. I felt like dying for |
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