Dick and his chums speedily realized
that they had escaped actual injury, yet their legs shook so that
they could hardly stand.
"Wh---wh---what was it?" asked Reade in accents that quivered
in unison with his trembling legs.
"See here, fellows, we mustn't be fools," Dick cried chidingly.
"We're not hurt, and Mr. Garwood is. Let's see what we can do
for him."
"Do for me, will you?" groaned the injured one. "No, you won't.
You boys keep your distance from me, or you're going to be worse
scared than you are already. Don't imagine that I'm helpless,
for I'm not. In me you behold the master of the world!"
"Confound him, I've a good mind to go away and let him have the
world to himself," muttered Reade.
But Dick and Dave had already started toward the spot where Amos
lay. The man scrambled to his feet, the old, hunted look coming
into his eyes.
"You keep away from me!" he screamed. "Get away! Clear out!
I don't want to hurt you. I wouldn't harm a fly. But I'm not
going to allow any one near me!"
Dick ventured too near. Garwood swung his uninjured arm so
unexpectedly that Prescott had no chance to get out of the way.
He fell flat on the ground. Warned by the light in the eye of the
world's master, Dick believed it prudent to roll several yards before
be tried to get up.
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