"What—what guns are those?" he asked thickly.
"Divisional artillery—Sixth Division," came the reply. "All right. We got your message."
The scout put his hand to his brow and then, dropping it, stared at it stupidly. It was red.
"All right," said the voice. "You're hit—but not seriously. Lie down."
The scout collected all his faculties in an attempt to bring out one more thought from the obscurity which filled his brain.
"What—what time—now?" he asked.
"Just one o'clock." The voice appeared to recede to an enormous distance, although he felt the speaker's face close to his. "They're in time—don't worry. Lie down. The ambulances are coming in a minute or two."
The scout stood obstinately.
"The—the other—machines?"
"Bagged 'em both. You came down beautifully—like a kite." The voice sounded from worlds away.