[“He staggered to his feet, stumbled blindly through the doorway.”]
For several minutes he lay there unmoving, only dimly conscious. Then he came to himself with the knowledge of an aching, throbbing head and a scorched throat and threw out his arms and rolled over on his back with his face to the blessed blue sky and the soft breeze. He took a deep breath that pained him badly, and then another, and found that each succeeding breath hurt less than the one before. And full consciousness came back to him in a sudden rush of thankfulness. A groan from beside him recalled the boy to his mind and he sat up, swayed dizzily and blinked his eyes. Beside him lay the boy, his clothes burned in places and his hair singed. And beside the boy lay the dog, a red setter, the boy’s fingers clutched tightly about his collar. Dan looked for a moment from boy to dog. The boy stirred and moaned. The dog’s eyes were half closed, but his sides rose and fell with long, shivering breaths. They were both alive, Dan told himself contentedly. Then he lay down again and went into a dead faint.
When he regained his senses there were men about and a troubled, anxious face was bending above him. He looked up at it a moment, and then a smile of recognition curved his lips.
“I remember,” he murmured. “It was on the train.”
“How are you feeling?” asked a voice.
Dan considered a moment, opening his eyes widely and looking about. Then—
“Pretty good now, thanks,” he answered cheerfully. He tried to raise himself, but the man put a hand against his breast and held him down.
“Stay where you are, please, and we’ll have you in the house in a moment.”
“How’s—he?” asked Dan. “And the dog?”