"Nothing but a hip bruise, or I'm guessing wrong," smiled the white-faced sufferer.
"In any case, you're meat for a doctor," put in Deputy Simmons, with rough sympathy.
"All right," replied Dick. "I'll walk to the doctor's office.
How many miles is it?"
"About fourteen," replied Simmons. "I'll bring the doctor to you. It's only about six miles to Ross' farm. I'll borrow his car. Then I can make good time getting the doctor and bringing him here. But you'd better sit down before I start."
"Aren't you going to do anything with the car in the creek?" inquired
Prescott.
"What can we do?" demanded the deputy laconically. "There isn't muscle enough in this crowd to hoist the car up the bank. Anyway, her engine is damaged beyond a doubt. No, no, Prescott, you sit down, or lie down, and the rest of you had better wait here until I bring help. I can be back in three hours at the latest. Darrin, will you place one of the lamps at either end of where the bridge was? That may save some farmer from driving in on top of the car."
Dave complied willingly enough. Then Simmons turned to Prescott.
"Now, you sit down, young man," ordered the deputy.
"I'd rather not," Dick replied. "I haven't anything worse than a bruise. If I keep too quiet the injury will stiffen all the more. I must move my hip a bit, or I may be in for a worse time."
"That may be true," nodded the deputy thoughtfully. "Well, be good, all of you. I'll be back again, as soon as possible."