Tom worked skillfully and rapidly and soon had the temporary splint in place. The pain involved in setting the broken bone roused the wounded aviator from his oblivion. Again he opened his eyes, but this time there was less of vacancy in them. He tried to speak, but though his lips moved, no sound issued from them.
Tom bent over him.
“You’ve been hurt,” he said gently. “But you’re with friends. If you tell us what your name is and where you live we’ll try to get in touch with your people.”
The young man muttered something that was unintelligible.
“Try once more,” urged Tom kindly.
In a little louder tone and evidently with an effort of will, the injured youth said something that sounded like Hillobie.
“Did you say Hillobie?” asked Tom. “Just nod your head, either yes or no. Don’t try to speak.”
But the effort had been too much for the young man’s feeble strength, and he closed his eyes and lay motionless.
“We’ll have to let it go at that,” said Tom, rising to his feet. “Perhaps the hospital people will find papers on him that will give a clue to his identity. We’d better not wait to look for any. Now let’s get him to the car.”