“The fellow won’t run any further away from us this time,” advised the policeman. “He’s lying on a shelf of rock about twelve feet down. Both of you can help me.”
The boys followed him. They took a look over the edge of the gully as their leader flashed his lantern down. There, plainly visible, was the recent passenger of the Scout.
“He’s insensible, or dead,” spoke the officer in a callous, professional tone. “He must have landed head first. We must get him up here. I want a look at those sparklers.”
The man’s word grated harshly on both Dave and Hiram. They proceeded, however, to follow the directions of the officer. The rope was not heavy, but was very strong, being reinforced with strands of flexible wire.
It took them nearly fifteen minutes to lower the policeman and hoist, first the injured man and then the officer, to the surface. As the fugitive lay extended motionless upon the grass the officer inspected him with the aid of the dark lantern.
“None of his limbs seem broken,” he reported, “but he got a terrific crack on his head. I’ve seen a good many cases of such hurts, and I guess this fellow has run his last race.”
“Can’t we do something for him?” asked Dave solicitously.
“Say,” broke in Hiram, “I see the lights of a settlement over to the west there. It can’t be more than a mile away.”
“You had better reach it, then,” suggested Dave.
“Yes, and get them to send a wagon, or an ambulance, for this man,” added the policeman.