When Dick and Sam came up they found Tom sitting in the very midst of the bushes. The bicycle lay among the rocks with the handle-bars and the spokes of the front wheel badly twisted.
"Are you much hurt, Tom?" asked his big brother sympathetically, yet glad to learn that Tom had not been ground to death under the train, which had now passed the crossing.
"I don't know if I'm hurt or not," was the 'slow answer, as Tom held his handkerchief to his nose, which was bleeding.
"I tried to plow up these bushes with my head, that's all. I guess my ankle is sprained, too."
"You can't ride that wheel any further," announced Sam.
"I don't want to ride. I've had enough, for a few days at least."
It was a good quarter of an hour before Tom felt like standing up. Then he found his ankle pained him so much that walking was out of the question.
"I'm sure I don't know what I am going to do," he said ruefully. "I can't walk and I can't ride, and I don't know as I can stay here."
"Perhaps Dick and I can carry you to Hopeton," said Sam, mentioning a small town just beyond the railroad tracks.
"It will be a big job. If you— Here comes a wagon. Perhaps the driver of that will give me a lift."