trance between the pork barrels. Gangley assisted him and soon they were behind the temporary shelter with their burden.
"I hope he isn't dead?" said Henry, as he surveyed the motionless form. "Isn't there a surgeon handy?"
A medical officer soon appeared, and Barringford was carried to an improvised hospital but a short distance away, and here the medical man made a hasty examination.
"He isn't dead, but he's pretty hard hit," was the surgeon's conclusion. "I'll do what I can for him. No, you can't help me. Better go to the front and do your duty. There is no telling how strong the French are, and if they defeat us, you know what we can all expect—a dreary life in a Canadian prison—or worse."
There was no time to say more, for the shooting had now started up once more. It came from three sides. The enemy remained hidden behind the trees and it was only occasionally that the English could get a shot in return.
"Will they make a general attack, do you think?" asked Henry, of Gangley.
"That depends on how strong they are," was the reply.
It was a fearfully hot day and those behind the
