"He doesn't seem to have any bones broken," said Frank after a hurried examination.
"And he isn't bleeding," replied Bart. "But he has a lump on his head as big as an egg."
At last Tom's full consciousness returned, and with his chums' assistance he got slowly and painfully to his feet.
"Guess they haven't got my number yet, but they came mighty near it," he said, trying to grin. "I'd just run one of the Huns through the arm when I saw another out of the tail of my eye swinging for my head with his rifle. I tried to dodge, but he must have been too quick for me, for that's the last I remember."
"Thank heaven it was no worse!" ejaculated Frank fervently.
"It would have been a mighty bad thing for us if you had cashed in, old boy," said Bart with feeling. "How did the scrap turn out?" asked Tom.
"Though I suppose there's no use in asking, or you wouldn't be here taking care of me."
"We trimmed them good and proper," said Frank, from whom a ton's weight had been lifted by finding that his friend had escaped serious injury.
"A lovely scrap," added Bart. "I wouldn't have missed it for a farm. We've wiped out five and rounded out the rest. Let's go over and see how many there are."
"Eight," announced the corporal, as he counted the prisoners who stood in a group sullen and morose. "There must have been a baker's dozen in the party."