The team was now tearing down the turnpike at a furious run, and Spark, balancing himself unsteadily, turned to see what had become of his pursuer. Chick was in the box, and crawling toward him. Jumping over the wagon seat, Spark hurled himself upon the detective, the latter rising to meet the attack. That is the position they were in when the wagon dashed around the bend and past the two automobiles. Chick was far and away a better man than Spark, but skill and muscle could not count in a predicament of that kind. Finally the two men went down on the floor of the wagon. The end gate had already been lost, so the combatants rolled over and over, and finally tumbled into the road. This terminated the struggle. Spark gave vent to a groan of pain, and relaxed his hold on the detective, and the latter got up, clasping his left wrist with his right hand. Patsy, leading his prisoner by the irons, came to the scene as rapidly as he could. “What’s the matter, Chick?” he asked. “Sprained my left wrist, that’s all,” answered Chick. “It hurts like the deuce, but it’s nothing serious.” While speaking, Chick was tying a handkerchief tightly around the injured forearm, using his right hand and his teeth. “Your man seems to have got touched up pretty bad,” went on Patsy. “He has only himself to blame, if he has. He thought he could get away from me by using that wagon, but I guess he thinks differently now.” Chick stepped up to Spark, and bent over him. “Where are you hurt?” he asked. “My right leg,” groaned the robber; “it’s broken!” “I don’t wonder at it. That was quite a jolt we had.” The detective made a brief examination, and found the leg to be as the robber had stated. “We can’t do anything for you for a while,” said Chick, helping himself to Spark’s weapons. “Just as soon as Nick comes in with the leader of your push, though, we’ll take the back track and get you under the doctor’s care as soon as possible.” “Nick who?” asked Spark, faintly. “Nick Carter.” “What! That man we threw into the creek! Nick Carter?” Spark demanded, forgetting his pain for the moment. “Who did you think it was?” Spark voiced some lurid language, then added: “If we had dreamed that fellow was the prize package himself, we’d have put a bullet into him before we gave him his bath.” “Even then he would have beat you out,” put in Patsy. “The grafter doesn’t live that can do up Nick Carter.” Between them, Chick and Patsy succeeded in getting Spark onto the rear seat of the Red Spider. He was in great pain, and it was not thought necessary to put the irons on him. When they had made Spark as comfortable as possible, the detectives became aware that the young woman was standing beside them, in the road. “I want my wagon an’ team,” she said, aggressively, as she caught Chick’s eye. “All right,” said Chick, cheerfully. “I think you’ll find the team at home when you get there.”