“My arm,” the child moaned, “and my head. A big red car runned right over me.”
“Red!” muttered Merriwell, his eyes brightening.
“My precious!” soothed the mother. “The doctor’ll be here right off. Does it hurt much?”
The child closed her eyes and slow tears welled from under the lashes.
“Yes,” she sobbed, “awful.”
Dick ground his teeth.
“It’s a crime for such men to be allowed on the road,” he said in a low, tense tone. “I’m going to do my level best to run down whoever was responsible for this, and if I do, they’ll suffer the maximum penalty.”
“I hope you do,” the woman declared fiercely. “Hanging’s too good for ’em! My husband, George Hanlon, ain’t the man to sit still an’ do nothing, neither.”
“They—wasn’t—men,” sobbed the child. “Only one.”
“One man in a red car of some sort,” Dick murmured thoughtfully. “He must belong around here; a fellow wouldn’t be touring alone.”