“I don’t want to run into that train,” he muttered, and tried to bring his bicycle to a halt.

But the movement did not avail without a brake, and so he was compelled to seek for some side path into which he might guide his machine.

But, alas! the road was hemmed in with a heavy woods on one side and a field of rocks on the other.  A sudden stop, therefore, would mean a bad spill, and Tom had no desire to break his bones by any such proceeding.

Nearer and nearer he drew to the railroad crossing.  He could now hear the puffing of the engine quite plainly and caught a glimpse of the long train over the rocks to his left.  On he bounded until the crossing itself came into view.  He was less than a hundred yards from it —­ and the oncoming engine was about the same distance away!

There are some moments in one’s life that seem hours, and the present fraction of time was of that sort to poor Tom.  He had a vision of a terrific smash-up, and of Dick and Sam picking up his lifeless remains from the railroad tracks.  “I’m a goner!” he muttered, and then, just before the tracks were reached, he made one wild, desperate leap in the direction of a number of bushes skirting the woods.  He turned over and over, hit hard —­ and for several seconds knew no more.

When Dick and Sam came up they found Tom sitting in the very midst of the bushes.  The bicycle lay among the rocks with the handle-bars and the spokes of the front wheel badly twisted.

“Are you much hurt, Tom?” asked his big brother sympathetically, yet glad to learn that Tom had not been ground to death under the train, which had now passed the crossing.

“I don’t know if I’m hurt or not,” was the ’slow answer, as Tom held his handkerchief to his nose, which was bleeding.

“I tried to plow up these bushes with my head, that’s all.  I guess my ankle is sprained, too.”

“You can’t ride that wheel any further,” announced Sam.

“I don’t want to ride.  I’ve had enough, for a few days at least.”

It was a good quarter of an hour before Tom felt like standing up.  Then he found his ankle pained him so much that walking was out of the question.

“I’m sure I don’t know what I am going to do,” he said ruefully.  “I can’t walk and I can’t ride, and I don’t know as I can stay here.”

“Perhaps Dick and I can carry you to Hopeton,” said Sam, mentioning a, small town just beyond the railroad tracks.

“It will be a big job.  If you —­ Here comes a wagon.  Perhaps the driver of that will give me a lift.”

As Tom finished a large farm wagon rattled into sight, drawn by a pair of bony horses and driven by a tall, lank farmer.

“Hullo, wot’s the matter?” asked the farmer, as he drew rein.  “Had a breakdown?”

“No, I’ve had a smash-up,” answered Tom.

“My brother’s ankle is sprained, and we would like to know if you can give him a lift to the next town,” put in Dick.  “We’ll pay you for your trouble.”