“It’s my cycle!” gasped the stranger, as he came up. “What a mad fool I was to let him ride.”
“Damn your cycle!” said Jim; “where’s the old man?”
We peered over the edge, and saw him in a thicket blinking up at us.
We had him out and up in no time, while two men climbed the tree to recover the machine, the stranger dancing about as if he were on hot bricks.
“Is it injured?” he kept on crying.
“Injured be blowed,” growled Si Amos; “it’ll be injured sharp enough if the old man’s hurt.”
“Who said I was hurt,” said Abe suddenly, sitting up and feeling his body. “I’m all right; but, boys, my sakes, you’ll never b’lieve me, never!”
“What’s happened? Are you all right? Sure?”
Abe slowly rose and felt himself. “Yes. You listen,” he said, solemnly. “The stranger’s right about them snakes—dead right.”
“It’s no time to joke,” said the stranger, looking ruefully at the bent spokes and twisted handle bar.