Spark gave vent to a groan of pain, and relaxed his hold on the detective, and the latter got up, clasping his left wrist with his right hand.
Patsy, leading his prisoner by the irons, came to the scene as rapidly as he could.
“What’s the matter, Chick?” he asked.
“Sprained my left wrist, that’s all,” answered Chick. “It hurts like the deuce, but it’s nothing serious.”
While speaking, Chick was tying a handkerchief tightly around the injured forearm, using his right hand and his teeth.
“Your man seems to have got touched up pretty bad,” went on Patsy.
“He has only himself to blame, if he has. He thought he could get away from me by using that wagon, but I guess he thinks differently now.”
Chick stepped up to Spark, and bent over him.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked.
“My right leg,” groaned the robber; “it’s broken!”