listless way wondered if he was fatally wounded and if this state was the beginning of death.
When Walter's brain began to clear, he found himself flat on his back in utter darkness, his head resting on a folded-up sailor's jacket, and his right hand held by the tar who had carried him off.
"Where—am—I?" he asked weakly.
"Hush!" was the whispered return. "Keep quiet, and you'll be all right." And the sailor gave him a reassuring clutch of the hand. A long silence followed, during which the youth put his hand down to the wound in his thigh, to find it tightly bandaged.
Fully an hour went by before the lad spoke again, and during that time the sailor left him several times, to see if any of the enemy or any of their friends were at hand. But no one appeared.
"Where is Si?" asked Walter, when he could stand the suspense no longer.
"Was that your friend?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what became of him, lad. The last I saw he was fighting hand to hand with that knife he carried."
