“Well, here’s trouble!” he muttered. Taking up Tad’s limp form he carried it to where the light from the grating shone up. “It’s that freckle-faced kid. Somebody gave him a tough wallop,” growled the man. Tad’s rescuer was Sam Dawson, one of the Gold Diggers. “I reckon I’ll fetch him around if his neck isn’t broken.”
41Laying the lad down on the deck where he would have plenty of air, the Digger worked over the Pony Rider Boy for fully five minutes before Tad returned to consciousness. Butler was too dazed to realize what had occurred.
“I’ll take you below now, my lad,” said Dawson.
“No, no. Not yet,” protested Tad. “Wait. I want to think.”
“Who was the fellow who hit you?” demanded Dawson.
“I–I don’t know,” stammered Tad.
“What did he do it for?”
“I–I don’t know. I–”
“You aren’t very strong on information, are you?” grinned the prospector.
“I want–want to see Mr. Darwood.”