Aladdin came to consciousness in the early morning. He was about as sick as a man can be this side of actual dissolution, and the pain in his broken leg was as sharp as a scream. He lay groaning and doubled in the filthy half-inch of water into which he had fallen. About him was darkness, but overhead a glimmer of light showed a jagged and cruel hole in the planking of the stable floor. Very slowly, for his agony was unspeakable, he came to a realization of what had happened. He called for help, and his voice was thick and unresonant, like the voice of a drunken man. His horse heard him and neighed. Now and again he lapsed into semi-unconsciousness, and time passed without track. Hours passed, when suddenly the glimmer above him brightened, and he heard light footsteps and the cackling of hens. He called for help. Instantly there was silence. It continued a long time. Then he heard a voice like soft music, and the voice said, “Who’s there?”
A shadow came between him and the light, and a fair face that was darkened looked down upon him.
“For God’s sake take care,” he said. “Those boards are rotten.”
“You ‘re a Yankee, aren’t you?” said the voice, sweetly.
“Yes,” said Aladdin, “and I’m badly hurt.”
The voice laughed.
“Hurt, are you?” it said.
“I think I’ve broken my leg,” said Aladdin. “Can you get some one to help me out of this?”
“Reckon you’re all right down there,” said the voice.
Aladdin revolved the brutality of it in his mind.