Through the woods and across a swamp he pulled himself along, and at last, in the afternoon, as he could tell by the sun, he dragged himself out on a road and saw a white farmhouse a little way down it.
“I—I guess I’m all right now,” faltered the exhausted youth.
It was a much surprised farmer who a little later saw a tall young man, obviously hurt, almost crawling up the front walk. Before the farmer could ask any questions Tom shot one at him.
“I’ve got to get an important message off at once. Have you a telephone? I’ll pay for using it!” There was something businesslike in Tom’s voice, weak and weary as it was, that impelled the farmer’s respect in spite of Tom’s rather disreputable appearance.
“Come in,” the man invited. “Looks to me like you’d better telephone for a doctor while you’re at it!”
“That can wait,” gasped Tom. “Something else is more important. Show me the telephone!”
A little later he was gasping to Ned his message:
“Just escaped! Watch the plant! Get Father to safety. Look out for bombs. I’ll try——”
Then Tom Swift fell over in a faint.