"Let me have the boy." Dick was borne up to the road in the deputy's strong arms.
"Can you stand ?" asked Simmons.
"Put me on my feet, sir, and let me see," begged Dick.
He took a few steps, wincing, his face white.
"Dick, old fellow," faltered Dave, "I'm afraid you've broken a leg." "No; or I couldn't stand on my legs and walk," Prescott replied.
"It hurts up here, where the side of the car rested." He placed one hand on his right hip.
"Then your hip is broken," groaned Darry.
"I don't believe that, either," argued Dick.

"If my hip were broken I don't believe I could move my leg or step." He took two or three steps, wincing painfully, to show what he could do.
"Nothing but a hip bruise, or I'm guessing wrong," smiled the white-faced sufferer.
"In any case, you're meat for a doctor," put in Deputy Simmons, with rough sympathy.
"All right," replied Dick.

"I'll walk to the doctor's office.
How many miles is it ?" "About fourteen," replied Simmons.

"I'll bring the doctor to you.

It's only about six miles to Ross' farm.