“But what d’ye think they mean to do?” asked Billy Worth.
“Take charge of the situation,” replied Hugh, promptly. “It may be the governor has been appealed to by some one, and has given the sheriff authority to order the guards out of the barricade. He may even be meaning to arrest them on some charge or other.”
The two big touring cars stopped close by, and the man who seemed to be in authority strode up to the spot where the scouts, as well as Dr. Richter, stood. He gave a glance toward the emergency hospital under the oak, and his look was grave as he addressed the surgeon.
“Where do you come from, Doctor?” he asked, noticing, of course, the fact that the ambulance was marked with that significant Red Cross that told its story better than mere words could have done.
“From Farmingdale,” replied the Red Cross surgeon, “where a convention was in progress when we received a wire sent by these fine boys here, begging us to come and relieve them from the duty of taking care of the many who were injured in the riot that resembled a massacre.”
The gruff-looking sheriff raised his bushy eyebrows and surveyed Hugh and his comrades with sudden interest.
“You don’t mean to tell me these kids were handling such cases when you came on the scene?” he demanded, with an incredulous stare.
“Certainly—and nobly,” the other assured him. “Not only have they taken the first necessary steps to stop the loss of life blood, but they have made that very good stretcher, and carried several of the badly injured from the front of the plant over here under the shade of this tree. The lads are deserving of the greatest praise.”
“I am certainly surprised, and pleased as well,” said the sheriff, nodding in the direction of the boys. “Were there any fatalities, doctor?”
“I understand none up to the present,” replied the surgeon. “We have, however, several cases so serious that I would not like to predict a favorable outcome, though everything possible will be done to pull them through. They were shot in the back!”