With that he strode down into the creek, wading through and coming out at the farther side. Then he was lost among the shadows.
Though it hurt to keep on his feet, Dick, after some minutes, found that he could move about a little more freely, despite the pain.
"That shows there are no bones broken," he assured his distressed chums.
"Does it?" asked Darrin. "Hang it, I wish I knew more about injuries of this sort. Then I might be able to help you."
"Why, I may be all right, and able to sprint in another half hour," smiled Dick.
"Yes, you will!" jeered Greg. "Dick, you won't run for a few days to come, anyway."
"A nice lot we are, to set out to aid the law's officers," remarked
Dave disgustedly. "Dick can take only a half a step per minute.
Mr. Valden can use only one hand. Greg's head looks gory. The
lot of us couldn't scare a baby now!"
"I can still say, boo!" Prescott laughed.
"Is it wise to try to do so much walking?" questioned Darry, as Greg went back to the creek to wash the blood from the shallow cut on his forehead.
"Yes; for I don't want to grow stiff until I'm where I can take care of myself," Dick answered, taking a few more steps. "No; don't help me. I want to move alone, and I'm strong enough for that."