"Are any of the others wounded?" inquired Bob, getting up from the floor.
"Yes, mon Lieutenant, several of us have small wounds. That fellow with the empty sleeve has his arm in a sling, and one other had a bullet through his leg. They received first dressing at Petit-Bois after we were taken."
"We may be on this train all day," said Bob, speaking careful French to make his meaning clear. "Let me look at the wounds, and perhaps I can make you more comfortable."
No one made any objection when this was explained. The man with the empty sleeve was pale and suffering from the exposure of his wounded arm to the cold, but he offered himself to Bob's unskilled ministrations without a murmur.
Before unwrapping the bandages Bob walked over to where the German guard sat or leaned against the side of the car. At his approach the sergeant on duty stood up with visible reluctance.
"Have you any dressings—bandages—I could use for the wounded prisoners?" asked Bob, speaking as distinctly as he could.
The man shook his head uncomprehendingly. Then, as Bob struggled to recall the little German he had picked up from Karl and Elizabeth, the sergeant spoke to a soldier who was sitting on the floor near by and motioned to him. The soldier got up and, approaching Bob, said to him:
"Speak English. I can understand you, Herr Lieutenant."
Bob repeated his request. The man shook his head, looking toward the Frenchmen with little interest in his face. "We have nothing," he said at last.
"What time shall we reach our destination?" Bob inquired. "How soon do we stop?" he altered the question, as the man looked blankly at him.