They picked up Nathan and laid him upon it. It was the work of a few moments to bear him back to the train.
“An American soldier! One of our boys!” cried Doctor Cleeve. “They probably attacked the train last night and captured him and he escaped from them!”
It was mid-afternoon when the Red Cross train was able to proceed again, into the deeper heart of Siberia, bearing Nathan backward. But he was among his friends—his countrymen—people of his blood and homeland.
He awoke in a white-iron berth, gauze bandages about his head, his left arm in a sling, bound tightly against his body. It was night. The great mercy-train was clicking steadily westward.
“Where is she?” he cried wildly, as he raised himself on his good elbow and addressed the young doctor, nodding by the window.
“Where is who?”
“The woman—who came down the hill—the one who helped me to the top!”
“She’s asleep! It’s the middle of the night. You’ve been unconscious and in delirium. Feeling better?”
“Who is she? Where have I seen her before? Or was she just an angel! And her face from my own imagination?”
“Miss Theddon found you, old man. She’s a new nurse, just out from the States. Joined us from Manila. You’re a lucky guy!”