He heard the butt of the soldier’s musket drop upon the ground, and rode forward.

“Can you tell me, my man,” he said as he reached the sentinel, “where the Duke of Marlborough is to be found?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the man replied.  “Only our regiment is here.  I know there are a number of cavalry away there on the left, and I heard someone say that the duke himself was there.  There is a crossroad, a hundred yards farther on, which will lead you to them.”

Thanking the man, Desmond rode on.  A few bivouac fires had been lighted, and these were already beginning to burn low, the troops having dropped asleep almost as soon as they halted.

“I hope we shall meet no more of them, Mike,” Desmond said, as they went on at a brisk trot.  “I sha’n’t feel quite safe till we get to Mullen.”

They met, however, with no further interruption.  As they crossed the bridge, they halted, took off the borrowed uniforms, threw away the headgear and put on their own hats, which they carried under their cloaks, and then rode on up the hill, after having first satisfied the officer commanding a strong guard placed at the bridge that they were friends.

Another ten minutes, and they were upon the plateau.  Desmond had no difficulty in finding out where the headquarters were established at Hayse, and, riding there, he at once went into the house occupied by Berwick, and reported his return.

“I am glad to see you back again, Kennedy,” the duke said, heartily.  “It is something to have recovered one friend from the wreck.  Now, what is your news?”

Desmond related what had happened to him from the time he left, and said that a large proportion of the troops at Diepenbeck had already left, and, as he heard no outburst of firing, he hoped most of them had got safely away.

“I see you are wounded.”

“I have had my wrist smashed with a musket ball, fired by a party on a hill to the right, belonging, I suppose, to the force that came up from Oycke.”

“You had a narrow escape of your life,” Berwick said.  “If you had been hit a little farther back, the ball would have gone through your body.  Sit down at once.  I will send for my surgeon.”

And he instantly gave orders for the surgeon of the staff to come to his tent, and then made Desmond, who was suffering terribly from the agony of the wound, drink a tumbler of wine.

“I know you are all busy, doctor,” the duke said, as the surgeon entered, “but you must do something for Mr. Kennedy, who is badly wounded in the arm.”

The surgeon examined the wound, and shook his head.

“Both bones are fractured,” he said, “and I am afraid that there is nothing for it but amputation.”

“Then leave it till tomorrow, doctor,” Desmond said faintly.  “There must be a number of poor fellows who want your attention much more than I do.”

“That would do, if I could make you a cradle, but we are badly off for all surgical appliances.”