Dave helped his assistant get the Scout off the ground, its pilot marking with his eye closely the main points in the landscape. Thus he would be able to pretty accurately direct those who came after the injured man. The minute the officer was satisfied that nothing could be done to add to the comfort or safety of their charge until aid arrived, he proceeded to examine the pockets of his insensible prisoner.
The young aeronaut considered this rather a heartless proceeding, but realized that the officer was acting in pursuance of his duty. Twice he went over every pocket and possible secret hiding place in the clothing of the fugitive. He finally arose to his feet with a baffled and angry expression of face.
“He’s beat us!” he growled. “I fancied he was getting away with his booty—but it was getting away from me and my partner that he was after.”
“But what has become of the diamonds you spoke about?” queried Dave.
“Got rid of them to some partner, I suppose, before we finally ran him down,” was the explanation. “It’s too bad to miss the big reward that we’d have got.”
Hiram returned in half an hour. He had made a brief and rapid trip.
“A sheriff and his men will soon be here with an auto,” he reported, and a very few minutes after that the machine in question halted near the spot. A surgeon had accompanied the village officers. He shook his head as he looked over his patient.
“He won’t live the night out,” he announced with professional certainty. “Concussion of the brain, and a very serious case.”
The city policeman accompanied the auto back to the village. Before he did so, however, he wrote something on a card and handed it to Dave.
“If you will take that card, and your bill for the clever work you’ve done, to police headquarters, they’ll treat you right,” he said.