"That's Bob! What happened to him?" Jimmy fairly shouted his question.
"Knocked out by a piece of shell. It grazed his scalp and put him to sleep. Nothing very serious. Come along with us and you can see him. We'll fix it for you," was the kindly offer.
"You're all to the mustard," Jimmy responded gratefully. "Will I go along? Well, you bet."
Trotting along behind the stretcher, Jimmy was soon in the communication trench. A short walk brought him to a first-aid dugout. It was full of cots, on which lay wounded soldiers, many of whom would soon be on the way to a hospital back of the lines.
"There's your man." Pointing to a cot, the good-natured stretcher-bearer immediately turned to attend to his work.
Jimmy, however, did not need direction. He had already spied Bob.
"Hello, Blazes," greeted a faint but cheerful voice, as Jimmy reached the cot. Very white, his head bandaged, Bob's grin was still in evidence.
Tears again rushed to Jimmy's eyes as he grabbed the hand Bob stretched out to him.
"I've been hunting you ever since the guns quit," he said brokenly. "Are you hurt any place besides your head?"