“It strikes me, Dick,” whispered Wyatt, “that he’ll have to hop somewhere else before he has done.”
“Carry him back to the cell,” said Hulton sternly.
A couple of the guard stepped to the injured man’s side.
“All right, boys,” he said in a low tone. “I’ve got no more fight in me; I give in.”
He threw his arms over the men’s shoulders, and somewhat after the fashion of giving a ride in a sedan or “dandy-chair,” as children call it, the prisoner was raised from the ground and borne back to his place of imprisonment.
“He ought to have a doctor directly,” said Dick as he and Wyatt followed some little distance behind the party bearing the prisoner.
“Who says so?” said Wyatt.
“I do.”
“And what do you know about it, chicken?”
“I know that he has fallen heavily upon his foot and given the ankle a bad wrench. It’s about double its proper size now, and requires immediate treatment.”