“You’re all right,” spoke Ned. “I’ll take care of you. What’s your name and where did you come from?”
“Don’t let him rob me!” pleaded the old miner. “I have only a little gold, but I need it. I know where there is more, much more. I’ll tell you, only don’t hit me again. I’m sick, please don’t strike poor Jim Nestor!”
“No one is going to hurt you,” said Ned, in soothing tones, but the old man did not seem to comprehend. Ned felt of the miner’s head, and found he had a bad cut on the back. He washed it off with some water and bound his handkerchief around it. This seemed to ease the old man, and he sank into a doze.
“Well, of all the queer adventures, this is about the limit,” spoke Ned, to himself.
The boy glanced about the hut. There was nothing to throw any light on the strange happenings. The candle flickered in the draught from the open door, and cast weird shadows. The man breathed like a person in distress. Ned was about to bathe the wounded man’s head again, when the sound of the automobile returning was heard.
“What luck?” asked Ned, running to the door. “Did you get him?”
Whereupon Jerry told of the fruitless chase after Jack Pender. The three boys entered the hut, and Ned told his chums what he had done to relieve the miner.
“He’s got a bad wound on the head,” he went on. “I guess Pender must have hit him. Jack probably came this way, saw the old man in here sick, and unable to help himself, and watched his chance to rob him. There must have been considerable gold-dust in that belt.”
Jerry stooped down and gathered a little from the floor.
“There is some mystery here,” he said. “I think we had better get a doctor for the old miner. After he gets better he may talk. I’d like to get my hands on Pender for a little while.”