"Have you bread? I starve. . . ."
"I'll see if I can get you something."
"Open his roll." And the wounded man turned his eyes hungrily on the nearest dead body. And Jim, opening the linen roll which each Russian carried, found a lump of hard black bread and placed it in his hand.
"I thank. You will come again?" asked the young Pole anxiously.
"I'll come back all right, as soon as I've found a litter." And he left the wounded man feebly gnawing his chunk of black bread like a starving dog.
He found a litter in time, and the weary eyes brightened a trifle at sight of him.
"You are good," he murmured. "You save me."
And Jim, thinking what he would like himself in similar case, went along by his side till they found a doctor resting for a moment, and begged him to examine the new-comer.
"His leg must go. The body wound will heal," said the medico. "Seems to have had a bad time. Where did you find him?"
"I found him under fifteen dead men."