"Say, Joe, are you hurt? How, Joe? When? Just now? Blast them devils! Mebbe you ain't bad, Joe; you only think so. Lots do."
"Stop the car, driver! Here's where we leave the track of the tank, anyway, I take it," ordered Herbert, getting down to business. "Where are you hurt, Neely?"
For answer the poor fellow placed his hand on his back; then suddenly fell limp in his brother's arms. Bill began to mumble over him.
"He isn't dead, Bill; he's just fainted," said Herbert. "We must get him back, Joe, somehow, to a hospital. But there are no ambulances following us this closely. And we must go on, whatever happens; those are our orders."
"Corporal, let me take him back!" Bill Neely made the request pleadingly. "I'll get him there somehow and then I'll come back and find you. I'll find you. I've got to put some lead into them Huns to get square for Joe, if he dies! Will you, Corporal?"
"Go ahead, then, Bill. Slide that bolt and push that door open, Wood, and help get Joe down. Poor fellow! I hope he isn't badly hurt. Go straight for that bunch of pines, Bill, and you'll be pretty safe. If you come back bear off to the right a little from here and you'll find us pretty soon. So long, old man!"
Bill Neely with his brother humped over his shoulder, started back, as directed; the great armored car went on. Herbert told Wood to peep out back and watch Bill's progress, if he could, and the car progressed, as indicated by his orders. He had reached what he believed was a proper place, hardly two hundred yards from where they had stopped; he was ordering all out, the supplies unloaded and the driver to return, when Wood called to him:
"They're both gone! Wiped out! Shell! It hit right at Bill Neely's feet! I couldn't see anything but legs and arms and things."
"Killed?"
"Done for."