We found him about a quarter of a mile away. He was unconscious when we picked him up, and we hurried as fast as we could in getting him back.
The General had a cot waiting for him and instead of sending for an attendant he rushed off himself to get one.... Ben opened his eyes and stared at me. “Leony, damn yer soul!... Where ya been?... I hunted all over hell fer ya.”
The General and the attendant came up then and Ben groaned from the man’s rough examination of his back. But he continued to talk to me.
“I had a fight, too, Leony,” he said, mumbling some of the words indistinctly. “Did ya hear about that yella skunk hittin’ me in the back with a rock when I wasn’t watchin’ him?... The dirty yella bum!... Ya should ’a’ seen it, Leony!... I just whaled hell outa him ... then I got dizzy.”
“You weren’t hit by a rock, big boy,” the pill-roller said, with a laugh. “You’ve got a piece of shrapnel the size of your fist in your back.”
“Huh?” Ben’s eyes opened in wonder and disbelief. “Felt like a rock when it hit.”
His breath was coming in short gasps now. His face was a dirty white, the rough texture of his skin standing out like the contour lines on a topographic map.
“Chilblaines didn’t hit me?” he asked after a moment.
I told him, “No—a piece of shrapnel. Now lie still and take it easy. You should have stayed in here instead of wandering around all over France.”
“How’d I know ... you were ... safe?” he mumbled. “The Captain tole me to take care of ya.... Say....” He glanced up to see if the General had gone. “I found yer twin brother out there, too... Leony ... dog-gone ya ... why in hell didn’t ya ... tell me the secret before?...”