A mile covered, they slowed down, to peer into the bushes beside the road. They were now within half a mile of the bridge where Roger had taken the tumble.
"Hello! here comes somebody!" cried Dave, presently, and looked ahead. The rays of the bicycle lamp fell on a figure covered with dirt and dripping wet. "I declare, it's Roger!"
Dave had scarcely uttered the words when the figure tottered and fell. Riding up, the two boys dismounted and rushed forward. Roger lay in the middle of the road, his face resting on one arm.
"Roger what is it?" asked Dave. "Are you badly hurt?"
"I—I took a header—over the bridge!" gasped the senator's son, when he could speak. "I—fell in th—the water!" His teeth began to chatter. "My, but it was co—co—cold!"
"Any bones broken?"
"I—I reckon no—not. But I am awfully we—weak!"
"Where is the motor cycle?" asked Ben.
"I—I do—don't know."
"Here, put on my sweater," said Dave, and hastened to take off that which was wet. "We must get him to the Hall somehow," he added.