Frank drew his bicycle from the spot where he had hidden it, secured his rubber boots to the machine, and was speedily threading the path he had traversed in the opposite direction earlier in the day. Passing down a gentle declivity in an open space, Christmas set up a sudden bark. Frank turned, to observe the dog halted and looking aloft. “Hello!” exclaimed Frank, also glancing skywards. “That must be the balloon the little fellow at the pound was telling about.” The balloon was about two miles distant, and was instantly obscured from view by some tall trees. Frank had kept on going without looking ahead. The momentary distraction had its result. Too late he turned the handle bars of the bicycle and set the brake. Bump! the machine struck a jagged tree stump, and Frank Newton took a header. CHAPTER V THE BALLOONIST’S RESCUE There was a sharp bang as the bicycle struck the tree stump. Frank righted himself readily and ran to the machine where it had fallen. “Pshaw!” he exclaimed, “tire punctured and the wheel a pretty bad wreck generally.” This was true. A jagged sliver had ripped a hole in both the outer and inner tubes of the front wheel. The hard bang against the tree stump had twisted several spokes out of place and set a rim wobbling. Frank had started in such a hurry from Riverton that morning that he had not thought of taking his mending kit along. He debated what he should do without further loss of time. “I might carry it,” he reflected. “If I try to run it, I will loosen it up more and lose some of the parts. Guess I’ll leave it here, get my message to Mr. Buckner, stop at the house for my tool kit, and fix the machine up right here. This way, my staunch and trusty friend,” he hailed to Christmas. “Watch it, old fellow, watch it,” said Frank to the dog, placing his hand on the wheel. Christmas looked longingly after his young master as Frank started on foot for Greenville. However, the animal posed right alongside the bicycle. Frank knew that it would take a loaded cannon to drive the trusty canine from the vicinity of his charge until he himself reappeared and gave the word. It was just one o’clock when Frank, a trifle dusty and footsore, entered the office of Mr. Buckner. “Well, well, good for you, Frank,” commended the insurance man, as he glanced at the clock and then at his visitor’s beaming face. “Of course you succeeded?” “I did,” admitted Frank, a little proudly, “but there was a tangle.” “Ah, indeed?” “Yes, sir. Dorsett was on the spot. There is the receipt. I had to climb for it.” “What do you mean?” Frank told of the circumstances of his exploit at Mr. Pryor’s office at Riverton. Mr. Buckner lay back in his chair chuckling and laughing. Then he got up and clapped Frank approvingly on the shoulder with one hand, and with the other extended a crisp new five-dollar bill. “I am glad to get this,” said Frank, “but I have hardly earned so much, I think.”