It was Buckhart. For once Brad uttered no whoop, spoke no word, but bent every nerve to the task before him.
“Brad!” cried Dick.
“Hey, pard!” was the retort. “Thank the Lord you’re alive!”
“Doris?” was Dick’s next word. And the sturdy Texan answered:
“She must be right here somewhere, partner. Look for her while I am making a hole to freedom.”
All around them were excited and bruised lads. Some had been cut by broken glass or timbers, and two or three were so frantic that they interfered with Buckhart as he swung the axe.
“Keep them back a moment, Black!” cried Dick. “Brad will open her up and you can all get out.”
Then he continued to search for Doris.
Buckhart was not long in making an opening large enough for the boys to crawl forth. One by one they crawled out at that point, while the Texan turned to look for Dick amid the wreck of the smashed car.
Merriwell found the girl he sought. She had been pinned down by a seat. In the dim light her face showed deathly pale and her eyes were closed. His first thought was that she was dead. But even as he stooped over her with a cry, her eyes unclosed and looked into his.