Harry reached the divisional headquarters without further mishap, and delivered his despatch. The rider who had come by the long way had not arrived. It was more than half an hour later when he at last rode in, and explained that he had been delayed at several points by congestion of traffic.
Meanwhile Harry had obtained leave to ride back and bring in his companion, whom he expected to meet within a mile or two. Evening was coming on; heavy clouds were heaping themselves in the western sky, hastening the dark. Harry had only the vaguest idea of the locality of the spot where he had caught a momentary glimpse of Kenneth, and after riding for some distance, untroubled by attentions from the German gunners, without meeting him, he began to feel uneasy. The sight of the abandoned motor bicycle increased his misgiving. Turning at the bridle path he rode back very slowly, closely scanning both sides of the road. At length he descried, in the failing light, a body lying half in, half out of the ditch. He jumped off his machine and hastened to the prostrate form, dreading to find that his friend was killed. But a moment's examination sufficed to reassure him. The heart was still beating. A few drops from his flask revived Kenneth, who sat up, a deplorable object, caked with mud from head to foot.
"How do you feel, old man?" asked Harry anxiously.
"Ugh!" grunted Kenneth. "Is my collar-bone broken?"
"Not a bit of it, or you couldn't move your neck like that. Can you get up?"
"Give me a hand."
He rose slowly to his feet.
"Is my skull cracked?" he asked. "Where's my cap?"
Harry picked it up, and put it on his head after feeling all over the skull.
"Just pinch me up and down the legs, will you?" said Kenneth.