intrenchments on an all but vertical hill, from piles of unlimited
ammunition, and from soldiers who should have been as placid as the
earth under them for all the demoralization that hostile artillery fire
was causing them.

And not all of them passed high. After that sweep of glistening steel
rain along the edge of the woods rose the cry here, there, everywhere:

"Hospital man! hospital man!"

And here and there, in the steady pelt of bullets, went the quiet, brave
fellows with red crosses on their sleeves; across the creek, Crittenden
could see a tall, young doctor, bare-headed in the sun, stretching out
limp figures on the sand under the bank--could see him and his
assistants stripping off blouse and trousers and shirt, and wrapping and
binding, and newly wounded being ever brought in.

And behind forged soldiers forward, a tall aide at the ford urging them
across and stopping a panic among volunteers.

"Come back, you cowards--come back! Push 'em back, boys!"

A horse was crossing the stream. There was a hissing shriek in the air,
a geyser spouting from the creek, the remnants of a horse thrown upward,
and five men tossed in a swirl like straw: and, a moment later, a boy
feebly paddling towards the shore--while the water ran past him red with
blood. And, through it all, looking backward, Crittenden saw little
Carter coming on horseback, calm of face, calm of manner, with his hands
folded over his saddle, and his eyes looking upward--little Carter who
had started out in an ambulance that morning with a temperature of one