His left arm pained—blood on the sleeve. His left thigh twinged sharply—there was blood here also.
"Must have had a narrow squeak," he thought. He felt faint, inclined to swoon, but held on to his horse firmly.
His head swam, his sight grew dim, he heard a roar from the front trench and then—oblivion.
When he came to he was being attended behind the firing line. He wondered where he was, and tried to sit up, but fell back exhausted. The doctor told him to keep still.
He slept several hours. When he awoke he was in the ambulance, jolting farther away from the line.
It was twenty-four hours or more before he was able to stand. Once on his legs he quickly recovered and, asking for his horse, which was near at hand, declared his intention of riding to headquarters.
The doctor protested; but when Alan explained who he was and the nature of his mission no further objections were raised.
"You have had a marvelous escape," said the doctor, looking at him admiringly. "You are a brave man."
Alan smiled as he thanked him, saying there would have been many officers who would have been glad of the chance to take his place and run the risks.
He rode to headquarters and was heartily welcomed. In a few moments he stood before his chief, who held out his hand, shook his heartily, and congratulated him.