"It's from a piece of shell, probably the same that settled the horse there; but it's not a bad wound, and will soon get well, doggie!" So saying, lifting up the injured member gently, he began to bind it round with a piece of lint which he had in his pocket, the retriever keeping perfectly quiet, as if knowing that no injury was intended him.
Fritz then proceeded to open the dead officer's jacket, in order to search for any papers or articles of value, which he might keep and forward to his relatives.

Previously, the dog would not allow him to touch the body at all, but now he did not offer any objection, so Fritz turned out all the pockets.

He could discover no paper, however, nor any trace of identity.

The only token he could find was a little silver ring wrapped in a small piece of paper, inscribed, "From my beloved, 18th July, 1870." This was carefully enclosed in a little bag of silk, and suspended by a ribbon round the poor young fellow's neck, resting on the cold and lifeless spot where his heart once used to beat.
"A love gage," said Heinrich sympathisingly.
"Ah, yes," replied Fritz; "and the poor girl will, I suppose, continue to look out for him, hoping to see him again, while he lies here in a nameless tomb! Never mind, I will keep the token and the dog; perhaps I may discover her and his friends some day through them.

Now, let us make the grave quickly, comrade, and commit him to his rest!" In silence the two then dug a low trench in the soil beneath the tree where the officer had found his death, and then reverently laid him in it.