Lying down, I got him on my back, and on hands and knees backed away towards a shell hole a few yards distant. I made it. Then, believing that the enemy would conclude that I would remain there, I gathered him in my arms and ran to another shell hole still nearer our lines. Before reaching it the bullets hummed around me like angry hornets. There I rested a little, and then ran on to another more distant depression in the ground. Up to this time I did not know that I had been hit, though I had felt something like a sharp blow strike my hip. Now I felt a warm trickle of blood down my leg, and knew that I was wounded and that I must reach our sheltering lines in one desperate run, if at all. If my strength would only last! With a full breath and with desperate resolution, I ran with my burden, the hum of bullets from snipers saluting. I gripped my nerve and shut my teeth. Could I reach a place of safety? I had made good progress, but my eyes blurred and I began to waver in spite of all my will. At last as I swayed and fell, I heard the welcoming shout of comrades. Then I fainted. When I recovered consciousness I found a surgeon fishing around in my hip for bullets. “How is the chaplain?” I asked. “Don’t know,” said the surgeon laconically; “another surgeon has his case.” “I must see,” I said, trying to get to my feet; for I felt, as wounded men often do, that my wound was not a serious one. Next it occurred to me that I was again under a surgeon, and that another starvation time was before me; and it made me mad. “Let me alone!” I cried, “I want you to understand that I am not dead yet. I want to find out about the Sky Pilot!” “Be calm,” said the surgeon, “and I will send around and see.” I must have become unconscious again; for the next I knew I was in a white bed, with other white cots, and a white-dressed nurse attending. I was in a hospital. “How came I here?” “You were brought in a minute ago,” said the nurse, “and you are to be kept quiet. Here, take this drink.” “No,” I said, smelling of it. “It will put me to sleep. I want to see how the chaplain is! “He is all right,” answered the nurse. “I was told to tell you so.” “All right,” I said, pushing away the drink. “Then I shan’t need that stuff to keep me quiet.” This surgeon did not turn out so bad, after all. He at least gave me enough to eat; and I was told that I would be all right in a few months! “I guess I will!” I said. “I am not hurt very bad, and I will be up sooner than that. I know it by my feelings.” And I was! I was pretty cross for a while because they would not let me get up and walk around. “It is a clean wound,” said the doctor, “and you are an uncommonly healthy boy.” “Boy!” I said, “I am a man, and I feel fit to go now.” But that surgeon was of another opinion. “A friend of yours,” said he, “a lieutenant, and another officer from the chaplain, have been inquiring for you.”