There were less than twenty-five of the British unwounded.  Hal and Chester had both been struck, Hal on the arm and Chester on the shoulder.  But neither was badly hurt.

“Hadn’t we better retreat, sir?” asked one soldier of Hal, when there was a let up in the firing.

“What chance would we have?” demanded Hal.  “The minute we broke and ran we would be shot down like dogs.”

“Then we might surrender.”

“Surrender!  Never!  We were ordered to hold the bridge and we will hold it as long as we can.”

The man subsided, and Hal turned his face toward the foe again.  There was a sudden silence.  The Germans drew off.

“Wonder what that means?” demanded Hal of Chester.  “They certainly are not going to give up.  I wonder what they are up to now?”

“I can’t imagine,” replied Chester.  “But they have something up their sleeves.”

“Well, well soon see,” said Hal.

But he was mistaken; for just as the first German again appeared around the turn, to be struck down by a British bullet, there was a sudden deafening roar from the rear, and turning suddenly Hal and Chester and the few brave soldiers who were left raised a feeble cheer.

Coming forward at a rapid trot were several squadrons of British cavalry, and far behind could be seen columns upon columns of infantry, advancing swiftly.

“Hurrah!” shouted Hal.  “Saved!  Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!” repeated Chester, and completely worn out, he tumbled over in a heap.

CHAPTER VII.

Hal makes an enemy.

Hal bent over his friend and shook him gently.

“Chester!  Chester!” he exclaimed anxiously.  “Are you wounded?”

There was no reply from the unconscious boy, and Hal became greatly alarmed.  He turned to the few troopers who remained.

“Here, lend a hand some of you,” he commanded.  “One of you fetch some water!”

Two of the men bent over the unconscious lad and one raised his head gently to his knee.  A third dashed for the river, and a moment later returned with his cap filled with water.

Hal sprinkled a few drops of water on his friend’s face, and soon noticed signs of returning consciousness.  Finally Chester opened his eyes and smiled feebly.

“Are you much hurt, old fellow?” asked Hal anxiously.

“No,” came the feeble response.  “I don’t think so.  A bullet just grazed my side.  I don’t know how I came to topple over like that.”

Quickly Hal unloosened his friend’s coat, tore open his shirt and examined his wound.

“It’s only a scratch,” he said, straightening up at last.  “Here,” pulling out his handkerchief, “I’ll fix it up until we can have a surgeon look at it.  You will be able to walk in a few minutes.”

“I’m able right now,” said Chester, struggling to his feet.