Yes, b'jiminey, I got shot." He reiterated this fact in a bewildered way, as if he did not know how it came about.
The youth put forth anxious arms to assist him, but the tall soldier went firmly as if propelled.

Since the youth's arrival as a guardian for his friend, the other wounded men had ceased to display much interest.

They occupied themselves again in dragging their own tragedies toward the rear.
Suddenly, as the two friends marched on, the tall soldier seemed to be overcome by a tremor.

His face turned to a semblance of gray paste.
He clutched the youth's arm and looked all about him, as if dreading to be overheard.

Then he began to speak in a shaking whisper: "I tell yeh what I'm 'fraid of, Henry--I'll tell yeh what I'm 'fraid of.