"At first," Dick went on, "I thought you hoboes had done the deed. That was why I asked my friend to let you come in. I wanted to keep you here until we could find someone who would take care of you."
"We didn't do it," replied the boss tramp, "and the old man says we didn't."
"No; no man struck me—-I fell," chimed in the peddler weakly.
"We'll help you take care of the old man," offered the boss tramp.
"If you mean what you say," Prescott proposed, "then take one of these lanterns and go down by the road to see what you can find out about Mr. Hinman's horse and wagon. Or did you see them as you came up?"
"No, for we came through the woods," replied the boss tramp.
"I'll take the lantern. Come with me, Joe."
Out into the dark plunged the two tramps, to face the heavily falling rain. For once, at any rate, they were doing something useful.
At a signal from Dick, Greg put some water on the stove to heat. Prescott found some clean cloth in their wardrobe box and bathed the wound on Mr. Hinman's temple, then washed his entire face. The wound proved to be broad, rather than deep, and was such as might have been caused by falling on sharp pebbles. Then Dick bound up the wound.
Next, Dick and Greg undressed Mr. Hinman and rubbed him down, then rolled him in dry blankets and laid him on another cot not far from the stove.
"Come out, you other hoboes," called the boss tramp's voice. "Come and help us right the peddler's wagon and bring that and the horse up here."