"By God, it's Colonel Arran," he added in a modified voice.

"Is he very bad, Berkley ?" "I don't know.

Can't you stop one of those ambulances, Jack?
I want to get him to the surgeons as soon as possible----" "You bet!" said Casson, wheeling his horse and displaying the new chevrons of a sergeant.

"Hey, you black offspring of a yellow whippet!" he bellowed to a driver, "back out there and be damn quick about it!" And he leaned from his saddle, and seizing the leaders by the head, swung them around with a volley of profanity.
Then, grinning amiably at Berkley, he motioned the stretcher bearers forward and sat on his horse, garrulously superintending the transfer of the injured man.
"There's an emergency hospital just beyond that clump of trees," he said.

"You'd better take him there.