“Can't tell, man? Did you go to see?”
“I think so. I'm not sure.”
A heavy sense of calamity descended upon Staniford's heart, but patience came with it. “What's the matter, Dunham?” he asked, getting out tremulously.
“I don't know. I think I've had a fall, somewhere. Help me in.”
Staniford got out and helped him gently to the seat, and then mounted beside him, giving the order for their return. “Where is your hat?” he asked, finding that Dunham was bareheaded.
“I don't know. It doesn't matter. Am I bleeding?”
“It's so dark, I can't see.”
“Put your hand here.” He carried Staniford's hand to the back of his head.
“There's no blood; but you've had an ugly knock there.”
“Yes, that's it,” said Dunham. “I remember now; I slipped and struck my head.” He lapsed away in a torpor; Staniford could learn nothing more from him.