"See nothin'!" grunted Nick. "The leaders had me off'n my feet about then, an' I didn't have no time to observe nothin'. Did he hurt the wagon any, Joe?"
"Knocked the mud off the rear wheels. The wagon weighs twenty-five hundred, but she sure shook when the kid hit it. Fine-lookin' young feller," and Joe stood up and looked down at Motor Matt with a foreboding shake of the head.
"Killed?" queried Nick, stepping to his partner's side.
"His ticker's goin', but I don't see how he could come through a smash like that there an' live."
"Me, neither. We'd better load him inter the wagon an' snake him ter a doctor as quick as we kin."
"I'll pile up some o' the blankets so'st ter make him comfortable. Wait a minit."
Nick climbed into the wagon and made a cushioned bed in the springless box: then, very gently, Motor Matt was lifted up and laid down on the makeshift bed.
Nick climbed down again and found Joe picking up scraps of the Comet.
It was a sorry wreck. The once beautiful machine, the pride of Motor Matt's life, was nothing now but a heap of junk.
"Purty badly scrambled up," remarked Joe. "Don't reckon it could ever be fixed. Shall we tote scrap inter Prescott, Nick?"