such thoughts on my mind I reopened
conversation with Hartzell.

"How's it coming, old man?" I shouted.

"They're coming damn close," he said; "how is it with you? Are you
losing much blood?"

"No, I'm all right as far as that goes," I replied, "but I want you to
communicate with my wife, if its 'west' for me."

"What's her address?" said Hartzell.

"It's a long one," I said. "Are you ready to take it?"

"Shoot," said Hartzell.

"'Mrs. Floyd Gibbons, No. 12 Bis, Rue de la Chevalier de la Barre,
Dijon, Cote d'Or, France.'" I said slowly.

"My God," said Hartzell, "say it again."

Back and forth we repeated the address correctly and incorrectly some
ten or twelve times until Hartzell informed me that he knew it well
enough to sing it. He also gave me his wife's address. Then just to make
conversation he would shout over, every fifteen minutes, and tell me
that there was just that much less time that we would have to lie there.

I thought that hour between seven and eight o'clock dragged the most,
but the one between eight and nine seemed interminable. The hours were
so long, particularly when we considered that a German machine gun could
fire three hundred shots a minute. Dusk approached slowly. And finally
Hartzell called over:

"I don't think they can see us now," he said; "let's start to crawl
back."

"Which way shall we crawl?" I asked.

"Into the woods," said Hartzell.

"Which woods?" I asked.

"The woods we came out of, you damn fool," he replied.

"Which direction are they in?" I said, "I've been moving around and I
don't know which way I am heading. Are you on my left, or on my right?"

"I can't tell whether I'm on your left or your right," he replied. "How
are you lying, on your face or on your back?"

"On my face," I said, "and your voice sounds like it comes from in back
of me and on the left."

"If that's the case," said Hartzell, "your head is lying toward the
wrong woods. Work around in a half circle and you'll be facing the right
direction."

I did so and then heard Hartzell's voice on my right. I started moving
toward him. Against my better judgment and expressed wishes, he crawled
out toward me and met me half way. His voice close in front of me
surprised me.

"Hold your head up a little," he said, "I want to see where it hit you."

"I don't think it looks very nice," I replied, lifting my head. I wanted
to know how it looked myself, so I painfully opened the right eye and
lo