“Let’s have ’em out,” and while they were being saddled and brought up, Jed picked out four of the men whom he knew to accompany him and his partner in the mounted pursuit of the robbers. One of them crowded through the hole in the window and passed out arms and ammunition. The remainder of the posse was dismissed, and returned slowly toward their homes, not without considerable grumbling that their services had been so lightly regarded.
At the end of ten minutes, Jed and his five companions were mounted and away. They were soon back at the station, which was now only a smouldering mass of ruins, so quickly had the flames been able to consume the flimsy frame structure.
“Where’s that kid?” asked Jed. “I didn’t suppose he’d keep us waitin’.”
“Something’s th’ matter over there,” said one of the men, and pointed to a little group which had gathered at one side of the track.
Jed swung off his horse and hastened to investigate. He found that it had gathered about Allan West, who lay unconscious, his pale face looking positively ghastly under the flickering light of the gasoline torch, which hung from the pole above him.
“What’s th’ matter with him?” asked Jed. “He told me he wasn’t hurt.”
“He’s hurt in the side,” answered the surgeon, who was bending above the boy. “I think there’s a couple of ribs broken. He never mentioned the injury when I dressed his other wounds. Is there a hospital at Coalville?”
“Hospital?” Jed grunted, derisively. “Well, I should say not!”
“Number Nine’s due in about ten minutes,” said the operator. “You can fix up some sort of bed in the baggage-car and take him back to Wadsworth.”
“That’ll do,” agreed the surgeon, and bent again above the boy.