The centre of excitement round the fort drew the human wolves, as carrion draws vultures.

The forest was dim and silent and deserted as the fugitives pursued their way through it.
From time to time the wounded man dropped some words full of horror and despair.

Young Roche, new to these fearful border wars, was almost overcome by this broken narrative, realizing the fearful fate which had overtaken so many of his brave comrades of the past weeks.
When at last they reached the little cave for which Fritz was heading, and where they felt that for the moment at least they were safe, he could only throw himself along the ground in an agony of grief and physical exhaustion: whilst the hardier Fritz bathed the wounds of their unfortunate comrade, binding them up with no small skill, and refreshing him with draughts of water from the pool hard by, which was all the sick man desired at this moment.
All three comrades were exhausted to the uttermost, and for a long while nothing broke the silence of the dim place save the long-drawn, gasping sobs of the lad.

Gradually these died away into silence, and Fritz saw that both his companions slept--the fitful sleep of overwrought nature.

Yet he was thankful even for that.
Moving softly about he lighted a fire, and having captured one of the wild turkeys which were plentiful in the forest at that season, he proceeded to prepare a meal for them when they should awake.
Roche slept on and on, as the young will do when nature has been tried to her extreme limits; but Pringle presently opened his eyes, and looked feebly about him.
Fritz had a little weak broth to offer him by that time, and after drinking it the Captain looked a little less wan and ghastly.
"Where are we ?" he asked, in a weak voice; "and how many are there of us ?" "We have only Roche with us.