Roy laid Dave down gently on the ground.
'Afraid he's got it bad,' he whispered, as he pointed to an ugly stain on the back of Dave's tunic. 'We must get the doctor as soon as we can.'
'Let's see if we can't stop that bleeding. The doctor's full up with work.' As Ken spoke, he bent down and began stripping off Dave's uniform, so as to get at the wound.
Tunic and shirt were both sodden with blood. Ken's heart sank. It looked as if his chum must have been shot clean through the body.
'He's bleeding like a pig,' muttered Roy, as he unwound a bandage.
By this time Ken had bared Dave's back, and with a handkerchief mopped away the blood.
'Well, I'm blessed!' he exclaimed. 'Look at that!'
The two stared, for instead of the blue-edged puncture which a bullet makes as it enters, there was nothing but a shallow cut about three inches long.
'I see,' said Ken suddenly. 'The bullet struck the leather of his braces, and glanced. I say, Dave, old chap, you may thank your stars for those bullock-hide braces of yours. They've saved you this time, and no mistake. It's only a flesh wound which a strip of plaster will put right in a day or two.'
'Thanks be for that, anyhow,' said Dave earnestly. 'It would have broken me all up to lose the rest of the fun. But,' he added thoughtfully, 'I'm sorry my braces are gone up. I'll never get another pair like 'em.'