A stretcher was brought, and an ambulance came hurrying up. The man was unconscious when he was lifted in.
“Serious, but not fatal,” was the abrupt diagnosis of a surgeon after a cursory examination. “Mostly weakness from loss of blood.”
“But why did he stay up after being hit?” asked one man, more of himself than anyone else.
“The Hun would have been glad to get away at any time,” put in another.
The lieutenant who had called for the stretcher turned in no unfriendly way toward them.
“He didn’t come down until he’d gotten his objective,” he said, “because of the stuff that he’s got in him—the same stuff that you fellows have got, too. You’ll be doing the same and just as good things on land, once you get started—and that won’t be very long now.”
He added the last few words in more of an undertone, as though speaking to himself, but everyone caught the significance of them.
“I believe it’s a good sign,” said Ollie Ogden, as the three friends were slushing over the still slippery return journey, although the long rain had ceased early that morning.
“Believe what’s a good sign?” demanded Harper, impatient that Ollie should be so indirect.
“The way that pilot stayed up and won his fight.”