He had been picked up for dead by one of the men, and handed over to Barry Brown, who soon brought him back to life by applying a little whisky outside, and then using the very same universal remedy for the inside of the patient.
Hale did not feel very good, but he was slowly coming around, for his head was hard, and his constitution was like iron.
“See here,” said the leader of the prospecting party, “we haven’t thought anything about that boy. Where is he?”
“He hid in that cluster of bushes,” replied one of the men, pointing to the spot where Ralph had secreted himself. “He’s probably fainted with fright. I’ll rake him out.”
But, of course, he failed to rake the boy out, although he searched all through the grove with the others to aid him.
“He’s gone,” was announced.
“This is mighty funny,” said Harry Hale. “Both carried away without anybody seeing the thing done. Charley?”
“Yes,” said Gorse.
“Have you looked in the wagon? Pomp may be hiding there for a lark.”
“That’s so,” said Charley, and made a search that resulted in the discovery of the absence of the darkey’s banjo, which fact he made known to the others.