back. Then he heard it more plainly, but the thick pouring snow covered
all things.

"Carstairs," he said, "I'm going to get a wounded man out there. I just
can't stand it any longer."

"Don't be foolish. They may send a volley at any time through the snow,
and one of their bullets is likely to get you."

"I'll chance it."

"It's against orders."

"I'm going anyhow. Maybe I've suddenly grown squeamish, but I mean to
save that wounded German from freezing to death."

"Stop, Scott! You mustn't risk your life this way. I'll report you to
Captain Colton!"

But it was too late. John had climbed up the side of the trench, and,
standing in the deep snow, was feeling about for the one who groaned.
Guided by the sound his hands soon touched a human body.

The fallen man was lying on his side and he was already half buried in
the snow. John ran his hand along his arm and shoulder, and felt cold
thick blood, clotting his sleeve. But he was yet alive, because he
groaned again, and John believed from the quality of his voice that he
was very young. The hurt was in the shoulder and the loss of blood had
been great.