“I hope I did the right thing, after all,” he panted. “I hope she isn’t killed!”
[CHAPTER VII]
THE GIRL
Joe Matson bent over the unconscious girl, and, even in the excitement of the moment, out of breath as he was from his fast run, he could not but note how pretty she was. Though now her cheeks that must usually be pink with the flush of health, were pale. She lay in a heap on the grass, at the side of the overturned carriage, from which the horse had partly freed itself. The animal was now showing signs of recovering from the stunning blow of the stone.
“I’ve got to get her away from here,” decided Joe. “If that brute starts kicking around he may hurt her. I’ve got to pick her up and carry her. She doesn’t look able to walk.”
In his sturdy arms he picked up the unconscious girl, and carried her some distance off, placing her on a grassy bank.
“Let’s see—what do you do when a girl faints?” mused Joe, scratching his head in puzzled fashion. “Water—that’s it—you have to sprinkle her face with water.”
He looked about for some sign of a brook or spring, and, listening, his ear caught a musical trickle off to one side.