"Great heavens! what is this?" exclaimed one, as they rode up. "As I live, that is Andrew Harmon's horse. Well, I never thought Andrew would get near enough to a battle to get shot."

By this time they had dismounted. Going to Calhoun they looked at him, and one exclaimed, "This is not Harmon; it's one of Morgan's men. Got it good and heavy. Served him right."

"Is he dead?" asked the girl, in a trembling voice.

The man put his hand on Calhoun's heart. "No, marm," he answered, "but I think he might as well be."

"Carry him into the house, and send for Doctor Hopkins, quick," she said.

"What! that dirty, b.l.o.o.d.y thing! Better let us carry him to the barn. It's a blame sight better place than our boys get down South."

"The house, I say," answered the girl, sharply.

"Why, Miss Joyce," said the other man, as he looked at her, "you are covered with blood."

"Yes, I caught him as he fell from his horse," she answered. "I am not hurt."

The men were about to pick Calhoun up and carry him in according to the directions of the girl, when she exclaimed, "There comes Doctor Hopkins now."

Sure enough, the Doctor had heard of the fight, and was coming at a remarkable speed, for him, to see if his professional services were needed. He reined in his horse, and jumping from his gig, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "Why! why! what is this? And Miss Joyce all b.l.o.o.d.y!"

"I am not hurt. The man, Doctor," she said.

The Doctor turned his attention to Calhoun. "As I live, one of Morgan's men," he exclaimed, "and hard hit, too. How did he come here?"

"His horse brought him," answered one of the men. "He clung to his horse as far as here, when he fell off. Miss Joyce caught him as he fell. That is what makes her so b.l.o.o.d.y."

"Well! well! well!" was all that the old Doctor could say.

"The queer part is," continued the man, "that the horse belongs to Andrew Harmon. I heard that Andrew had gone out with the Home Guards, but I could hardly believe it. I guess this fellow must have killed him and appropriated the horse."

"What! Andrew Harmon killed in battle?" cried the Doctor, straightening up from his examination of Calhoun. "Don't believe it. He will turn up safe enough."

Then speaking to the girl, the Doctor said, "Miss Joyce, this man has nearly bled to death. I cannot tell yet whether the ball has entered his head or not. If not, there may be slight hopes for him, but he must have immediate attention. It is fortunate I came along as I did."

"Miss Joyce wanted us to take him into the house," said one of the men, "but I suggested the barn."

"The barn first," said the Doctor; "if I remember rightly, there is a large work-bench there. It will make a fine operating-table. And, Joyce, warm water, towels, and bandages."

Joyce Crawford, for that was the girl's name, flew to do the Doctor's bidding, while the men, to their credit be it said, picked Calhoun up tenderly and carried him to the barn, where the work-bench, as the Doctor had suggested, made an operating-table. Joyce soon appeared with the water, towels, and bandages. The Doctor had already taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, ready for work. Although he was a country pract.i.tioner, he was a skilful surgeon. Carefully he washed away the blood, then clipped away the matted hair from around the wound. It seemed to Joyce a long time that he worked, but at last the wound was dressed and bandaged.

"The ball did not penetrate the brain," he said, as he finished, "nor do I think the skull is injured, although the ball plowed along it for some distance. Fortunately it was a small bullet, one from a revolver, probably, which hit him. It cut a number of small arteries in its course, and that is the reason he has bled so much. An hour more and he would have been beyond my skill."

"Will he live now?" asked Joyce.

"The chances are against him. If saved at all, it will only be by the best of nursing."

"He can be taken into the house now, can't he?" she asked.

"Yes, but you had better first let a tub of water be brought, and clean underclothes, and a night shirt. He needs a bath as much as anything."

Joyce had the men get the water, while she procured some underclothes which belonged to her brother. Calhoun's clothes were now removed, clothes which had not been off him for a month.

"Here is a belt," said one of the men; "it looks as if it might contain money," and he was proceeding to examine it when the Doctor forbade him.

"Give it to Miss Joyce," he said; "the fellow is her prisoner."

The belt was handed over rather reluctantly. Calhoun having been bathed, Joyce was called, and told that her prisoner was ready for her.

"Bring him in, the chamber is all prepared," was her answer.

Calhoun was brought in and placed in a large, cool upper chamber.

"This is mighty nice for a Rebel," said one of the men, looking around.

"My Jake didn't get this good care when he was shot at Stone River."

"Too blame nice for a Morgan thief," mumbled the other.

"Shut up," said the Doctor; "remember what Miss Joyce has done for our boys. Worked her fingers off for them. This man, or rather boy, for he can't be over twenty, was brought to her door. Would you have him left to die?"

The men hung their heads sheepishly, and went out. They were not hard-hearted men, but they were bitter against Morgan, and any one who rode with him.

"Now I must go," said the old Doctor kindly, taking Joyce's hand. "You have done to this young man as I would have one do to my son in a like extremity."

The old Doctor's voice broke, for he had lost a son in the army.

Recovering himself, he continued, "I must go now, for I may be needed by some of our own gallant boys. I will drop in this evening, if possible, and see how your patient is getting along. G.o.d bless you, Joyce, you have a kind heart."

Joyce looked after the old Doctor with swimming eyes. "One of G.o.d's n.o.blemen," she murmured.

She took the belt which had been taken from Calhoun, and which had been handed her by the Doctor, and put it carefully away. She then began her vigil beside the bedside of the wounded man. The Doctor had given her minute directions, and she followed them faithfully. It was some hours before Calhoun began to show signs of consciousness, and when he did come to, he was delirious, and in a raging fever.

The Doctor returned as he had promised. He shook his head as he felt Calhoun's pulse, and listened to his incoherent mutterings.

"This is bad," he said. "It is fortunate he lost so much blood, or this fever would consume him. But we must hope for the best. Only the best of nursing will bring him through."

"That he shall have," said Joyce. "I have sent for Margaret Goodsen. You know she is an army nurse, and knows all about wounded men."

"Yes, Margaret is good, none better," replied the Doctor.

All through that night Joyce sat by the bedside of Calhoun cooling his fevered brow, giving him refreshing drinks. He talked almost continually to himself. Now he would be leading his men in battle, cheering them on.

Then he was a boy, engaged in boyish sports. The name of Fred was uttered again and again.

"I wonder who Fred can be?" thought Joyce; "a brother, probably."

Joyce Crawford was the only daughter of the Hon. Lorenzo Crawford, one of the most prominent citizens of Columbiana County. Mr. Crawford had served two terms in Congress, and was at the time of the war a member of the state senate. He had one child besides Joyce, his son Mark, who we have seen was a major in the Federal army.

Mr. Crawford lost his wife when Joyce was three years old; since that time his house had been presided over by a maiden sister. This lady was absent in Steubenville when Morgan appeared so suddenly in the county; thus at the time of Calhoun's appearance only Joyce and the servants were at home, Mr. Crawford being absent in the east on duties connected with the Sanitary Commission.