Indistinctly there came to him the surging shock of the fresh body of Mormons.

The din about him became fainter and fainter as though he was being carried rapidly away from it; shouting voices came to him in whispers, and deadened sounds, like the quick tapping of a finger on his forehead, were all that he heard of the steady rifle fire that pursued the defeated mainlanders in their flight.
After a little he began struggling back into consciousness.

There was a splitting pain somewhere in his head and he tried to reach his hand to it.
"You won't have to carry him," he heard a voice say.

"Give him a little water and he'll walk." He felt the dash of the water in his face and it put new life into him.
Somebody had raised him to a sitting posture and was supporting him there while a second person bound a cloth about his head.

He opened his eyes and the light of day shot into them like a stinging, burning charge of needle-points, and he closed them again with a sharp cry of pain.
That second's glance had shown him that it was a woman who was binding his head.