I began crawling along the water-course. I had only gone three yards
or so, and turned a bend, when I came suddenly upon two wounded men.
Both quite young--one merely a boy. He had a bad shrapnel wound
through his boot, crushing the toes of his right foot. The other lay
groaning upon his back--with a very bad shrapnel wound in his left
arm. The arm was broken.

The boy sat up and grinned when he saw me.

"What's up?" asked his pal.

"Red Cross man," says the boy; and then: "Any water?"

"Not a drop, mate," said I. "Been wounded long?"

"Since yesterday evening," says the boy.

"Been here all that time?" I asked. (It was now mid-afternoon.)

"Yes: couldn't get away"--and he pointed to his foot.

" 'E carn't move--it's 'is arm. We crawled 'ere."

"I'll be back soon with stretchers and bandages," I said, and went
quickly back along the water-course and then past the Engineers.

"Found 'em?" they asked.

"Yes: getting stretchers up now," said I. "Awful stink here! Found any
dead?" I asked.