[CHAPTER XVIII]
A STRANGE MEETING
Bob Dalton slowly opened his eyes. The reason he did it slowly was because it seemed less painful that way. And the truth of the matter was that he ached all over. Later he said he felt as though some one had taken a club and pounded him from head to foot.
"I wonder what happened," mused Bob, and his brain seemed to work as slowly as did his eyes. Then came remembrance of the great blast, of the farmhouse blown into the air, and he himself being hurled along with at least part of it. Then came the fall and darkness. And it was from this darkness of unconsciousness that Bob was now gradually emerging.
He turned his head from side to side, and was glad to find that it was still attached to his body and that he could still move it.
Bob saw that he was lying in a field. Dirt was all about him, some scattered in such a way as to show that shells had landed there not very long before. Over his head Bob could see the sky and note that clouds were slowly floating along.
"Well, I'm out in the open, that's one sure thing," mused the Khaki Boy. "Now to see if I've got my legs and arms left. My head's as sore as a boil, though."
The best way to discover this was to use his hands, and he found, to his delight, that they were both attached to his arms, and that his fingers were intact. They were a little numb, but he managed to move them, convincing himself that at least the upper part of his body was still intact.
"Hum! Lump about as big as a hen's egg," murmured Bob, as he discovered a protuberence on his head. It was the blow which caused this that had rendered him senseless.
"Now if I can wiggle my legs maybe I'll be able to get up and see what happened and what's going on," thought Bob. He lay still for a moment longer, however, moving his feet only slightly, and he was glad to find that his legs seemed to be normal.