"And did he have any white under his neck?"
"Yes, I think he did. Do you think you know the horse, Sam?"
"I know Mr. Sanderson has a horse with white feet and a white chest—a dark horse, just like that one was."
"Then it must have been Mr. Sanderson's horse and cutter!" cried Spud. "If it was, do you think that man was running away with the outfit?"
"I don't know what to think, Spud. To my mind it's a mighty serious piece of business. But our first duty is to do all we can for poor Songbird."
Arriving at the nearest farmhouse, Spud ran ahead and knocked on the door. A woman answered the summons, and as she happened to know the youth, she readily consented to have Songbird brought in and laid on a couch in the dining-room. Hardly had this been done when the sufferer slowly opened his eyes.
"Don—don't hit m-m-me again!" he murmured. "Ple-please don't!"
"It's all right, Songbird. Don't you know me?" said Sam, quietly.
The injured collegian opened his eyes again and stared at the youth before him.
"Sam! Wh-where did you co-come from?"