Who goes there?

by B. K. Benson

I looked at them. They were looking at me. Their faces were strange. They were dirty. They were clothed alike. I closed my eyes. I tried to think.

"There he goes again," said a voice.

I felt a hand on my wrist. I opened my eyes. I saw a face bending over me. The face rose. It was a good face. This man's head was bare. He had spectacles. He was not dirty.

"Bring him in," said the man with the good face.

I was lifted again. I was taken into a tent ... certainly a tent. There were low beds in the tent--pallets on the ground. There were forms on the beds.

The men laid me on a bed. They straightened my limbs. Then one of them raised me from behind, and another took off my coat, or I supposed so, though I did not clearly see. Then they went away.

I was thirsty. I tried to speak, but could not speak. The man with the spectacles came to me. He said: "I am going to dress your head. You are not hurt badly."

My head was paining me, then, because I had been hurt? Yes, that must be true. If this was a dream, this part of it was not unreasonable. The man went away.

But did I ever have such a nightmare before? I had supposed that people awoke before they were hurt.

The man came again. He brought a bowl of water and a spoon. He raised my head, and put a spoonful of water to my lips. I tried to open my mouth, but could not.