George was a heavy load, but he did not struggle.

His head sank down against his comrade's and Dick felt that it was burning with fever.
"Good old George," he murmured to himself rather than to his comrade, "I'll save you." Excitement and resolve had given him a strength twice the normal, a strength that would last the fifteen or twenty minutes needed until this task was finished.

Despite the darkness and the driving rain, he could now see the lights in his own camp, and bending forward a little to support the dead weight on his back, he walked in a straight course toward them.
"Halt! Who are you ?" The form of a sentinel, rifle raised, rose up before him in the darkness and the rain.
"Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment, bringing in Lieutenant George Warner of the same regiment, who is badly wounded." The sentinel lowered his rifle and looked at them sympathetically.
"Hangs like he's dead, but he ain't," he said.

"You'll find a sort of hospital over thar in the big tents among them trees." Dick found the improvised hospital, and put George down on a rude cot, within the shelter of one of the tents.
"He's my friend," he said to a young doctor, "and I wish you'd save him." "There are hundreds of others who have friends also, but I'll do my best.

Shot just under the right shoulder, but the bullet, luckily, has turned and gone out.