"W-what d'ye s'pose it is?" was the frightened reply.
"Somebody is hurt, I guess. Maybe that man we heard has been knocked
down. It often happens in cities."
"Let's run," Phil suggested, now trembling violently.
"Run where?" Rod enquired.
"To the hotel."
"And leave that man to be killed! Scouts don't do that," and Rod
straightened himself up with a jerk.
"But what are we going to do?"
"Go after that policeman, see? He can't be far away. Come!"
The next instant the boys were bounding along the street after the
policeman they had met but a few minutes before. Fortunately they ran
across him sooner than they had expected, for hearing the sound of
hurrying footsteps, the official blocked the way, caught the lads by
the shoulders, and demanded what they were running for. Rod pantingly
explained, and soon the three were hastening back to where the struggle
had taken place.
At first the policeman had been doubtful as to the truth of the story,
but when he flashed his light upon the prostrate form of a man lying in
the gutter, he gave vent to an exclamation of astonishment. The man
was unconscious, and he was bleeding from a wound in the head. Rod
never forgot the look of that face lying there so white beneath the
light of the lantern.
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