Tom never liked, afterward, to recall that journey. It was a painful one because of his injured ankle. He got a tree branch, which he used as a crutch and hobbled along on that. Once or twice he fainted and sank to earth in a stupor. How long these periods of unconsciousness lasted he could not tell. He dared not call out for fear of bringing the men on his trail. Through the woods and across a swamp he pulled himself along, and at last, in the afternoon, as he could tell by the sun, he dragged himself out on a road and saw a white farmhouse a little way down it. “I—I guess I’m all right now,” faltered the exhausted youth. It was a much surprised farmer who a little later saw a tall young man, obviously hurt, almost crawling up the front walk. Before the farmer could ask any questions Tom shot one at him. “I’ve got to get an important message off at once. Have you a telephone? I’ll pay for using it!” There was something businesslike in Tom’s voice, weak and weary as it was, that impelled the farmer’s respect in spite of Tom’s rather disreputable appearance. “Come in,” the man invited. “Looks to me like you’d better telephone for a doctor while you’re at it!” “That can wait,” gasped Tom. “Something else is more important. Show me the telephone!” A little later he was gasping to Ned his message: “Just escaped! Watch the plant! Get Father to safety. Look out for bombs. I’ll try——” Then Tom Swift fell over in a faint. CHAPTER XI THE EXPLOSION David Knowlton, the farmer upon whom Tom had called so unceremoniously, was scarcely more surprised by the sudden falling over of the young man in a faint than he had been at his eager request for a telephone. “Great bullfrogs!” cried Mr. Knowlton, as he hurried to pick Tom up and lay him on a lounge in the room. “What’s all this goings-on, anyhow? What’s it all mean?” “Is he dead?” asked Mrs. Knowlton, who hurried into the room, having followed Tom and her husband when she saw the stranger come up to the house. “I don’t know, Sarah,” was the answer. “But first hang that telephone back on the hook. The inspector told me never to leave it off when we weren’t using the line and I guess this fellow is through using it.” So the telephone went back on the hook, which defeated the plans of frantic Ned Newton, on the other end, if not to hold further talk with Tom, at least to learn from what station he was telephoning his message of warning. In vain did Ned appeal to the central operator to re-establish the connection. “Unless you know the number of the party who called I can’t connect you,” she reported, and Ned knew, from previous attempts, that it was useless to carry the effort further. He could only hope that Tom would call again to relieve their minds. All they knew now was that he was alive, but that something dire portended.