"You have a bad cut on your head," said Tom.

"It isn't very deep," went on the injured man, placing his fingers
on it. "Fortunately I struck the tree a glancing blow. If you will
allow me to rest in your house a little while and give me some
plaster for the cut I shall be all right again."

"Can you walk, or shall we carry you?" asked Tom's father.

"Oh, I can walk, if you'll support me a little." And the stranger
proved that he could do this by getting to his feet and taking a few
steps. Mr. Swift and his son took hold of his arms and led him to
the house. There he was placed on a lounge and given some simple
restoratives by Mrs. Baggert, who, when she found the accident was
not serious, recovered her composure.

"I must have been unconscious for a few minutes," went on the man.

"You were," explained Tom. "When I got up to you I thought you were
dead, until I saw you breathe. Then I shut off the power of your
machine and ran in for dad. I've got the motor-cycle outside. You
can't ride it for some time, I'm afraid, Mr.--er--" and Tom stopped
in some confusion, for he realized that he did not know the man's
name.

"I beg your pardon for not introducing myself before," went on the
stranger. "I'm Wakefield Damon, of Waterfield. But don't worry about
me riding that machine again. I never shall."