"Anybody underneath?"

"The chauffeur. He's dead, I think. He doesn't answer."

The other members of O'Hara's party had crawled down the bank by that time.

With the aid of a jack, they got the car up. Johnny Rosenfeld lay doubled

on his face underneath. When he came to and opened his eyes, Grace almost

shrieked with relief.

"I'm all right," said Johnny Rosenfeld. And, when they offered him

whiskey: "Away with the fire-water. I am no drinker. I--I--" A spasm of

pain twisted his face. "I guess I'll get up." With his arms he lifted

himself to a sitting position, and fell back again.


"God!" he said. "I can't move my legs."

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