"Ye-es," faintly admitted the peddler.
"Then how were you hurt, sir?" Dick pressed in the same gentle voice.
"I—-I saw the light. Tried—-to drive my horse—-in. Wagon turned over. Fell off—-and hurt my head," replied the peddler, whispering hoarsely.
"You're fully conscious, Mr. Hinman, and know just what you're saying?" Dick pressed.
"Yes, Prescott. I know."
"Then no one else assaulted you to-night, sir."
"No—-one."
"I feel like saying 'thank heaven' for that!" exclaimed Dick in a quiet voice, as he straightened up, his eyes a trifle misty. "I hate to think that the earth holds men vile enough to strike down a weak old man like this!"
"And on such a night," added Tom Reade.
"Oh, we're pretty bad," said the boss tramp, huskily, "but we didn't do anything like that."