You said
you would. They've killed my captain - do you understand? They've
killed Captain Capron. The - - Mexicans! They've killed my
captain."
The troopers assured him they were carrying him to the firing-line,
but he was not satisfied. We stumbled over the stones and vines,
bumping his wounded body against the ground and leaving a black
streak in the grass behind us, but it seemed to hurt us more than it
did him, for he sat up again clutching at us imploringly with his
bloody hands.
"For God's sake, take me to the front," he begged. "Do you hear? I
order you; damn you, I order - We must give them hell; do you hear? we
must give them hell. They've killed Capron. They've killed my
captain."
The loss of blood at last mercifully silenced him, and when we had
reached the trail he had fainted and I left them kneeling around him,
their grave boyish faces filled with sympathy and concern.
Only fifty feet from him and farther down the trail I passed his
captain, with his body propped against Church's knee and with his
head fallen on the surgeon's shoulder. Capron was always a handsome,
soldierly looking man - some said that he was the most soldierly
looking of any of the young officers in the army - and as I saw him
then death had given him a great dignity and nobleness.
