He seemed to think that he was dreaming, and placed his hands to his head in a wondering manner.
“Frank Reade,” he slowly said, looking curiously at our hero.
“Right,” said Frank. “Here I am, just in time to save you from losing your beautiful curly hair. Give us your hand, old boy.”
“And Charley Gorse,” cried Hale. “Oh! now I begin to understand it. You have just arrived in time to rescue me. I remember that those devils were spurring down upon me when I was caught under the horse, then everything grew dark around me, and I suppose I must have fainted.”
“Exactly,” said Frank. “Don’t you remember this gentleman?”
With a little effort Harry Hale got upon his feet, and looked steadily at the Irishman.
Barney was quite a bit stouter, and therefore Hale did not know him at once.
“Know me!” cried Barney, standing up to the detective with outstretched hands, “av coorse he knows me, for wasn’t we companions in arrums and twin divils for fightin’?”
“I’ll be darned if it isn’t that blundering Irishman, Barney Shea, the cuss that was always spoiling for any kind of a row. Of course I know him. Jerusalem! how my leg hurts.”
“It’s lucky it wasn’t broke,” said the driver of the Steam Horse. “But just see how I travel now.”