“They are working on the new bridge and are blasting rocks there. I trust the workmen warned the youth—if he took that road.”
It was not long before they came upon the first of the workmen and the civil engineer questioned them.
“Yes, he came this way,” said Enrique Morano, to the professor. “One man says he must have been right on the old bridge when the blast occurred.”
“Pray heaven he is safe!” murmured Professor Strong, his face paling slightly.
When they reached the old bridge they found the workmen running down to the water’s edge.
“He is here!” cried the foreman, to Morano. “His horse ran away and threw him. The blast was too much for the beast.”
“Where is the boy?” demanded the professor, and having the direction pointed out to him, leaped to the rocks and ran forward to the edge of the stream.
Darry lay on his back, partly in and partly out of the water. His eyes were closed and he was motionless.
“Poor boy, he looks as if he were dead!”
“No, no, don’t say that Darry is dead!” cried Frank, who had come up by this time. “Perhaps he’s only unconscious.”