In falling the man had struck a row of white boulders edging a flower bed. There was quite a contusion near one temple and he was bleeding at the nose.
“The man’s hurt,” said Frank. “Some of you help me lift him onto the grass, some one go for a doctor.”
“No need,” sharply spoke a bystander—“here’s the police.”
“Make way there, what’s the rumpus here, anyhow?” challenged a stentorian voice.
Frank felt relieved. The speaker was the town marshal. The gathering had been reported to him and he had hurried to the spot.
The marshal dispersed the crowd. Two assistants brought a litter and marched off with the insensible man upon it. Frank closed the office door and barricaded the window as best he could.
Then he accompanied the marshal to the town lock-up. The prisoner was taken to a cell and a physician was called. By and by the marshal came back to Frank. He had a wallet, pocket knife and other little articles in his hand.
“Only stunned, the rest of it is what he’s drank,” he explained. “No need of worrying, Newton. He’s got over two hundred dollars in this pocketbook, so we’ll make him meet your bill of damages. What will it be?”
“Oh, from ten to twenty-five dollars.”