From the way they worked over Buell, I concluded he had been pretty badly stunned. But he came to presently.
“What struck me?” he asked.
“Oh, nothin',” replied Bud, derisively. “The loft up thar's full of air, an' it blowed on you, thet's all.”
Buell got up, and began walking around.
“Bill, go out an' fetch in some long poles,” he said.
When Bill returned with a number of sharp, bayonet-like pikes I knew the game was all up for me. Several of the men began to prod through the thin covering of dry brush. One of them reached me, and struck so hard that I lurched violently.
That was too much for the rickety loft floor. It was only a bit of brush laid on a netting of slender poles. It creaked, rasped, and went down with a crash. I alighted upon somebody, and knocked him to the floor. Whoever it was, seized me with iron hands. I was buried, almost smothered, in the dusty mass. My captor began to curse cheerfully, and I knew then that Herky-Jerky had made me a prisoner.
XV. THE FIGHT
Herky hauled me out of the brush, and held me in the light. The others scrambled from under the remains of the loft, and all viewed me curiously.