There was a shriek of agony. In an instant Duff was off his horse and at the head of the fallen animal.
“Medical officer here!” he shouted. “Now then, two of you men. One of you pull out that man while we lift.”
The horse's head and shoulders were lifted clear, and the injured man was pulled out of danger.
“Take him out of the way, please, doctor,” said Duff, to the M. O., who was examining the groom.
His sergeant literally sprang to his side.
“Bags,” repeated Duff savagely. “Canvas, anything to wrap around these horses' feet.”
The sergeant without further words plunged into the darkness, returning almost immediately with half a dozen bags.
“Thanks, sergeant; that's the way to move. Now get some more!”
Under Duff's directions the bags were tied about the feet of the horses, thus enabling them to hold their footing, and the transport moved off in the darkness.
Returning from the disposing of the injured man, the M. O. found Barry shivering with the cold, and weak from his recent attack of seasickness.
“There will be no end of a sick parade to-morrow morning, and you'll be one of them,” grumbled the M. O. “If they don't move them out of here soon they'll take them away in ambulances. There are a hundred men at this moment fit to go to hospital, but the O. C. won't hear of it.”
“Doc, they ought to have something hot. The kitchens are left behind, I understand. Let me have a couple of your men, and let me see what I can do.”
“It's no use, I've tried all the hotels about here. They're full up.”
“No harm trying, doc,” said Barry, and off he went.
But he found the hotels full up, as the doctor had said. After much inquiry, he found his way to the Y. M. C. A. A cheerful but sleepy secretary, half dead with the fatigue of a heavy day ministering to soldiers “going up the line,” could offer him no help at all.
“Do you mean to say that there is no place in this town,” said Barry desperately, “where a sick man can get a dish of coffee?”
“Sick man!” cried the secretary. “Why, certainly! Why not try the R. A. M. C.? They've a hospital half a mile up the street. They will certainly help you out. I'll come with you.”
“No, you don't,” said Barry. “You go back to bed. I'll find the place.”
Half a mile up the street, as the secretary had said, Barry came upon the flaring lantern of the R. A. M. C., at the entrance to a huge warehouse, the gate of which stood wide open.