But his was a stubborn-fibred race; his spark of life was not so
quickly quenched; its blazing torch might waver, wane, and wax
again. In the chill, dark hour when the life- lamp flickers most,
he wakened to hear the sweet, sweet music of a dog's loud bark;
in a minute he heard it nearer, and yet again at hand, and
Skookum, erratic, unruly, faithful Skookum, was bounding around
and barking madly at the calm, unblinking stars.
A human "halloo" rang not far away; then others, and Skookum
barked and barked.
Now the bushes rustled near, a man came out, kneeled down, laid
hand on the dying soldier's brow, and his heart. He opened his
eyes, the man bent over him and softly said, "Nibowaka! it's Quonab."
That night when the victorious rangers had returned to
Plattsburg it was a town of glad, thankful hearts, and human love
ran strong. The thrilling stories of the day were told, the
crucial moment, the providential way in which at every hopeless
pass, some easy, natural miracle took place to fight their battle
and back their country's cause. The harrying of the flying
rear-guard, the ambuscade over the hill, the appearance of an
American scout at the nick of time to warn them -- the shooting,
and his disappearance -- all were discussed.
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