Leaving the potato-digger under the firm impression that they were
all crazy, they hurried back to the road, the professor's bicycle was
placed in the tonneau, and Jack drove just within the speed law to the
hospital.

They found the injured man sitting up in bed, his great yellow beard
gleaming like gold. His head was bandaged but even the pallor induced
by the accident had not materially altered the ruddy glow of his thick
coat of tan.

"So these are the boys who saved me," he said, extending a big,
gnarled hand. "Shake, pardners. The doc here tells me if I'd laid much
longer out there in the sun, there might hev been a first-class
funeral fer Zeb Cummings."

"Oh, that's all right," said Jack easily. "I'm only glad that we came
along when we did."

"Well, you sure acted different from them other varmints," said Zeb
with deep conviction. "The doc tole me all about it."

His face suddenly grew grave as he changed the subject.

"Did you find anything on the ground thereabouts after I got knocked
out?" he asked.

"What sort of a thing?" asked Jack.

"Oh, nothing that looked very valuable. Jes' a little lead roll with a
bottle full of what looked like black sand in it."