Sawing for dear life, he forced the horse’s jaws with the killing curb—but then it was that the free running steed swerved into the path of its mate, and the team went down in a crashing mix-up.
The Bangor boy was catapulted forward, clear of the thrashing hoofs, yet with a falling force that jarred him into oblivion.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A NEW ASSIGNMENT.
When Billy regained his senses he found himself in a clean, enameled white bed, and was conscious of a black silk sleeve with snowy cuff when a deft hand tenderly adjusted a bandage that lay damp upon his aching forehead. These little details were impressive in the way of assurance to the patient that he had awakened this side of the grave.
“Where’s Henri?”
The nurse made no reply to this first question from the bed, except the mute expression of putting a finger to her lips, enjoining silence.
“I say, nurse, I mustn’t be wasting time here; my chum and I have a flying contract on hand, and this very minute ought to be sticking around that big building down the street.”
Getting more and more impatient, Billy essayed a sitting posture, but the effort forced a groan. At this the attendant hastened to settle the boy in comfortable position.
“You must be quiet, monsieur,” she softly admonished in French.
“Guess I’ll have to be,” weakly conceded Billy. “But can’t you tell me whether or not my pal is all right? And—that’s so; did the child in the sleigh come out safe?”