“Where is the man you went after?” added Julian Shafer, also taking good care to keep on the other side of the deck.
The dog was evidently doing his best to convey to the boys what knowledge he possessed regarding the stranger who was, if still alive, somewhere out in the night. For a time he met with scant success.
The boys listened intently, but there was only the rush of the river and the wind sweeping down from the mountains.
“Drop downstream to that ledge of rocks,” advised Clayton Emmett. “If the fellow is still alive, we’ll find him there.”
This proceeding apparently met with the hearty approval of the bulldog, who was the first to gain the rocky beach. Without loss of time he set off at a swift pace and soon brought up beside the prostrate figure of a lad who could not have been over sixteen. Alex bent over the body with his searchlight and made a hasty examination.
“Is he dead?” asked Cornelius Witters, known to his chums as “Case.” “He certainly looks the part.”
Alex shook his head.
“Let’s get him to the motor boat,” he said, with a shudder of horror. “Somewhere back in the dark ages, before the dawn of civilization, there may have been a kid more badly beaten up, but I doubt it.”
“Well, I should say so!” Jule cut in. “Looks like he had been run through a sausage mill! Where’s the fellow who did it?”
“Search me!” replied Alex. “The thing to do now, it strikes me, is to get the poor fellow where he can receive the attention of a surgeon. I wonder if one is to be found in this neck-o’-the-woods?”