“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then both together.”
The two lads lifted the constable, staggered along a few yards, and set him down again.
“Oh, I say!” groaned Tom. “Isn’t he heavy?”
“Come and try this end,” retorted Dick. “He’s an awful weight. We must go a few yards at a time, and we shall do it yet. Now then.”
“Stop a minute,” said Tom, who had picked up a handful of moss, and was rubbing one hand. “I—it’s warm and sticky, and—oh, Dick, he’s bleeding.”
Dick lowered the insensible man down again, and, shuddering with horror, stepped to his companion’s side.
Then kneeling down he tried to examine the spot pointed out by Tom, to find out as well as was possible in the dim light that the constable was bleeding freely from one leg.
“Dick, what shall we do?” cried Tom piteously.