“Be careful, my boy. You don’t know that this isn’t a trap,” cautioned the lawyer; “those men may be——”
He didn’t finish the sentence. A joyous cry from Tom cut it short. The boy had reached the edge of the creek, and in a clump of alders there he found something that made him utter a shrill cry of delight.
“What is it? What have you found?” demanded the lawyer, peering down.
“Why, I’ve found Ralph, Mr. Bowler. Poor lad, I’m afraid he’s hurt, though. Can you help me to get him up the bank?”
“Can I? Of course I can,” and the dignified lawyer plunged down to where Tom was standing. He found the boy stationed above the recumbent form of a small, frail boy, who was bleeding from a cut on the head. The lawyer made a swift examination of the wound and then told Tom to dip his handkerchief in the water of the creek, and when this had been done he bathed the wound carefully.
As the cold water touched him, Ralph, who had been moaning feebly, opened his eyes and seemed to be trying to speak.
“Not now, my lad,” ordered the lawyer, and then to Tom: “He is not badly hurt. I have examined him and no bones are broken.”
“But the cut on his head?”
“Nothing very serious. Now give me a hand and we’ll get him up the bank and into one of the machines. Then we’ll make as fast a run as possible for a doctor.”
Tom lost no time in carrying out the lawyer’s instructions, and by dint of scrambling and clambering, the two managed to get the wounded lad up the bank. This done, he was placed in the tonneau of the Flying Road Racer, and the two machines sped on once more.