“Tumble in,” cried Gorse, jumping to the seat, and into the body tumbled the three men.
The man was wheeled, a good head of steam let on, and away they went over the plains.
The headlight was burning up brightly now, and the driver of the Steam Man could see quite a distance ahead as he dashed along.
Not a word was spoken until a mile or two had been fleetly passed over, and then Charley pulled in and allowed the man to come to a standstill on the open plain.
“There!” he ejaculated.
“What’s up?” anxiously inquired Hale.
“Stopping for repairs,” said Charley.
“The man out of order?”
“No, the boy,” said Gorse. “I am the one that wants repairing. I’ve got a neat little gash across my right arm, a tickler in my ribs, a bruise on the top of my head, a big bump on my forehead, and there’s some blood got inside my boots from some place or other, and so I say I guess I want repairing.”
“Count me in, too,” said Barry Brown, who was awfully gnashed.