Fred dared not wait,
now that he had made up his mind to fly, even to see the extent of the
injury, much less to apply first aid. Had there been time, he might have
made Boris comfortable, for, like all well trained Boy Scouts, he
understood the elementary principles of bandaging and had made more than
one temporary setting in splints for broken bones. But he knew that the
Germans would be there in a minute or two, and he had no reason to
suppose that they would lack common humanity. They would care for Boris.
Probably they had a surgeon back at the culvert, or fairly near at hand,
at any rate.
"Get off the road," said Boris, gritting his teeth. "My head is
swimming, and I'm afraid I'm going to faint or do some such foolish
thing! But don't stay in the road. They're sure to go along, looking for
you."
Fred had reasoned that out for himself. And now, when he had rolled up
Boris's coat and helmet into a bundle, he leaped a narrow ditch and
plunged into a thick mass of bushes. He did not know the country here,
and had no notion of what sort of cover he might find. But luck was with
him though for a moment he thought he had stumbled into a disastrous
predicament.
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