Matt surveyed the ground. The turf had retained no marks of the violent work. He examined the rear tires of the wagons. The rims, for the whole of their circumference that was off the ground, were covered with a coating of dried mud; and this caking of mud was not broken at any place.
"Carter must have stood here, in this position," observed Matt, placing himself between the two rear wheels. "He says that he fell against one of the wheels and cut his cheek on the tire. I can't find any trace of the spot where Carter came into such rough contact with either of the tires."
"Don't you think he was telling the truth, pard?" asked McGlory in some excitement. "Is it possible he was using the double tongue, just to——"
"Easy, there," interrupted Matt. "Carter was dazed when he fell, and could hardly have known whether he struck against the tire or against something else. He may have dropped on a stone——"
"No stones here," objected McGlory, with a quiet look over the surface of the ground.
"Well, then it was something else that caused the injury to his cheek. He——"
"Here's something," and McGlory made a dive for the ground and lifted himself erect with an object in his hand. "I reckon it don't amount to anything, though."
"Let's see it," said Matt.
McGlory handed the object to the young motorist. It was a peg, perhaps half an inch thick by three inches long, and had a knob at one end as big as a marble.
"Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed the king of the motor boys, staring from the peg to McGlory and Carl.