Читать книгу Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium. Or, Saving the Fortunes of the Trouvilles онлайн

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An old woman, digging potatoes nearby, was so frightened when this winged bolt came down from the sky that she gave a squawk and fell backward into the big basket behind her.

When Billy had tenderly lifted out and laid Henri upon the turf, he ran to the well in front of the neat farmhouse, filled his leather cap with water, and hastened back to bathe the deathly pale face and throbbing temples of his wounded chum. With the cooling application Henri opened his eyes and smiled at the wild-eyed lad working with all his soul to win him back to life.

“I am not done for yet, old scout,” he faintly murmured.

Billy gulped down a sob.

“You’re coming around all right, Buddy, cried Billy, holding a wet and loving hand upon Henri’s forehead.

“The pain is in my right shoulder,” advised Henri; “I have just begun to feel it. Guess that is where the bullet went in.”

“Let me see it.” Billy assumed a severe professional manner. The attempt, however, to remove the jacket sleeve from the injured arm brought forth such a cry of pain from Henri that Billy drew back in alarm.