"Is it the professor?" whispered Buckhart, fearfully.
Together they dragged away some of the debris, and then Dick struck a match. The mask that had hidden the face of the man was covered with blood and partly torn away. His face was badly cut.
"Luke Durbin!" shouted the boy from Texas, as Merriwell fully removed the bloody mask and held the match with the reflected light flung from the hollow of his hands.
"That's who it is," said Dick.
"And I opine he's cashed in. This was the end of the racket for him."
Dick struck another match.
"See!" he exclaimed, as the light of this second match fell on Durbin's mutilated face. "He's not dead!"
The eyelids of the man fluttered and his eyes opened. A groan came from his lips.
"It's some rough," said the Texan; "but you've got only yourself to blame for being here."
The man's bloody lips moved and he sought to speak, but the husky sounds he uttered could not be understood.
"Durbin," said Dick, "your pals have left you here to die. Did you aid them in capturing and carrying off Zenas Gunn?"
Another painful effort to speak resulted in nothing that could be understood.
"Tell me the truth," urged Dick. "You can see how they deserted you. Why should you shield them? Did you carry off the old professor? Can't you answer? If you would say yes, close your eyes and open them again."
Slowly the wretch closed and opened his eyes.
"Where is he? Where have they taken him?"
It was impossible for Durbin to answer in words.
The boys lifted him and lay him on the cold ground by the roadside.
"I judge he's mighty near gone, partner," whispered Brad. "It's bad we have to lose time like this. We ought to be doing something for the professor."
"We can't leave this man to die here alone like a dog, no matter how bad he has been."
"He sure has got what was coming to him."
"But he's a human being. Think of leaving any human creature to die here in such a manner!"
"Think of Professor Gunn!"
"If we find out without delay what has happened to the professor and where he has been taken, we must learn it through this man. In case he knows-which is pretty certain-he may tell everything if he finds he is going to die."
"That's correct, Dick. You're always the long-headed one. But if he can't talk, how are we going to learn anything from him?"
"If we had a stimulant or restorative of some sort--"
"Liquor?"
"Yes; as a medicine liquor is all right when properly used. As a beverage it is poisonous."
Although Dick fully believed in temperance, he was not a crank, and he knew that liquor had its good uses, although almost invariably it was put to a bad use.
"But we haven't a drop of the stuff. What can we do?"
"Is there no way for us to get him back to the Robin Hood?"
"How'll we make the riffle, partner?"
Dick meditated a moment. As he did so, both lads heard in the distance the sound of hoofbeats and the rumble of wheels, telling them that a carriage was approaching at a rapid pace.
"Somebody else driving a heap hard, Dick," said the Texan. "Perhaps more trouble is coming."
"We'll have to be ready for anything. If it's some one we do not know, we'll appeal to him to take this man in and carry him back to the inn."
They waited, Buckhart producing his pistol, while Dick led the horses aside beneath a tree.
Back along the road a short distance there was an opening among the trees, and soon the carriage, drawn by a single horse, came rumbling through this star-lighted spot.
Dick joined Brad.
"We'll have to stop it, even if we scare the driver out of his wits," he said.
The boys stepped into the road and called to the driver. Immediately a man rose up in the carriage and cried:
"Who are you? Have you seen anything of two boys on horses, riding as if pursued by Old Nick himself?"
"We're the boys, I fancy," confessed Dick. "You're Mr. Swinton, of Robin Hood's Tavern."
It was the landlord, and he jumped out in a hurry when he found he had overtaken Dick and Brad.
"Look here, you chaps," he cried, "don't you think you can upset my house, smash windows and doors and run away without paying the damages!
I'm an honest man, and what's happened to-night at my place may ruin me.
I demand damages, and you'll have to pay 'em."
"All right," said Dick quietly. "Although we're not responsible for the things that have happened, we'll pay a reasonable damage charge if you promptly take into your carriage and carry to the inn a man who has been seriously injured here and may be dying. I'll pay you for your trouble with him, too."
Although still suspicious and doubtful, the landlord was somewhat mollified.
"How did it happen?" he asked, as he stooped and peered down at the injured man.
"There's the carriage," explained Brad, "smashed a whole lot. I opine they had a runaway. Don't waste time in asking other questions. Time is powerful precious to-night, and every minute counts."
The injured wretch groaned as they raised him and placed him in the carriage, which the driver had already turned about. The driver proved to be the hostler, who reminded Dick that he had not received the pound note promised him.
"I'll pay you as soon as we get back to the tavern," was the promise.
"Had no time to do it before."