“Where’s Tom, Reno?  Where’s Tom?” asked Ruth, earnestly, believing that the dog would recognize his master’s name.

The mastiff raised his muzzle and barked sharply again, but trotted onward.

“He might have fallen down any of these gullies, and we’d miss him, it’s so dark,” observed the previous speaker.

“I don’t believe the dog will miss the place,” responded Doctor Davison.

Just then Reno leaped forward with a long-drawn whine.  Ruth hurried with him, leaving the doctor to come on in the rear.  Reno took the lead and the girl tried to keep pace with him.

It was not for many yards.  Reno stopped at the brink of a steep bank beside the road.  This bank fell away into the darkness, but through the trees, in the far distance, the girl could see several twinkling lights in a row.  She knew that they were on the railroad, and that she was looking across the great swamp-meadow.

“Hullo!” shouted one man, loudly.  “Something down there, old fellow?”

Reno answered with a short bark and began to scramble down the rough bank.

“Here’s where somebody has gone down ahead of him,” cried another of the searchers, holding his own lantern close to the ground.  “See how the bank’s all torn up?  Bet his wheel hit that stone yonder in the dusk and threw him, wheel and all, into this gulley.”

“Wait here, child,” ordered Doctor Davison, quickly.  “If he is in bad shape, boys, call me and I’ll come down.  Lift him carefully—­”

“He’s here, sir!” cried the first man to descend.

And then Reno lifted up his voice in a mournful howl.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” murmured Ruth.  “I am afraid he is badly hurt.”

“Come, come!” returned Doctor Davison.  “Be a brave girl now.  If he is badly hurt he’ll need us both to keep our wits about us, you know.”

“Ye needn’t fret none, leetle gal,” said Jasper Parloe’s voice, behind her.  “Ye couldn’t kill that there Cameron boy, I tell ye!  He is as sassy a young’un as there is in this county.”

Doctor Davison turned as though to say something sharp to the mean old man; but just then the men below shouted up to him: 

“He’s hit his head and his arm’s twisted under him, Doctor.  He isn’t conscious, but doesn’t seem much hurt otherwise.”

“Can you bring him up?” queried the physician.

“That’s what we mean to do,” was the reply.

Ruth waited beside the old doctor, not without some apprehension.  How would this Tom Cameron look?  What kind of a boy was he?  According to Jasper Parloe he was a very bad boy, indeed.  She had heard that he was the son of a rich man.  While the men were bringing the senseless body up the steep bank her mind ran riot with the possibilities that lay in store for her because of this accident to the dry-goods merchant’s son.

And now the bearers were at the top of the bank, and she could see the limp form borne by them—­ a man holding the body under the arms and another by his feet.  But, altogether, it looked really as though they carried a limp sack between them.