“Chester,” he called.
There was no answer.
Again and again Hal called to his friend, meanwhile moving through the debris that littered the ground, until at last he came upon the unconscious form of Chester fully a hundred yards from the spot where he himself had come to life.
Quickly Hal bent over and raised Chester’s head to his knee. He still breathed and as the lad glanced around he noted a pool of stagnant water.
Laying Chester down on the ground carefully, Hal hurried to the pool. There he soaked his handkerchief and hurried back to his friend.
After some effort on Hal’s part Chester showed signs of returning consciousness as the cold water began to have its effect. Then Chester sat up.
“Where am I?” he asked, moving his head feebly in a vain attempt to pierce the darkness with his eyes.
Hal was forced to smile at this remark.
“I guess you are not in such bad shape after all,” he said. “Anybody that can wake up and start off with a question like that is not going to die for some time to come.”
Chester struggled from Hal’s arms and got to his feet. He surveyed the ruins of the erstwhile dugout in the darkness and then said: