"Sure it isn't a fracture!" asked the Professor, who had just arrived on the scene.
"No, I hardly think so."
The foreman washed the unconscious boy's face, soaking Tad's head and neck and searching for the seat of the trouble.
"Huh! Steer kicked him," grunted Stallings. "It was a glancing blow, luckily for the kid."
They worked over the lad for fully half an hour before he began to show signs of returning consciousness. At last his trembling eyelids struggled apart and he smiled up at them weakly.
"Ah! He's all right now, I guess," laughed the foreman, with a world of relief in his tone. "Boys, get busy now and cut out the rest of those cows. If the young man is not able to ride we'll put him in the chuck wagon when it comes up. Feel bad anywhere, now?" he asked.
"My—my head weighs a ton."
"I should think it would. Did the white steer kick you?"
"I—I don't know. Hello, Professor. I roped him all right, didn't I, Mr. Stallings?"
"You did. But you got roped yourself, too, I reckon. Think you'll be able to ride in the trail wagon? If not we'll have to send you back to town."