For minutes, no one stirred among the wreckage. Then Tom, who had been
stunned by some falling debris, raised himself to a sitting position.

"Good night!" Tom's eyes focused in horror on the wreckage enveloped by
still-billowing dust.

The sky was visible through several gaping holes in the roof, which was
sagging dangerously on its supporting trusses. Only two thirds of the
walls were still standing.

Suddenly Tom stiffened in fear. "Bud!" The young inventor had just
noticed his friend lying pinned beneath a heavy beam nearby. _Was he
still breathing?_

Disregarding his own injuries, Tom hastily freed himself from the debris
and groped his way to Bud's side. With a desperate heave, he shoved the
beam away, then cradled Bud's head in his arm. His friend's eyelids
flickered.

"Are you all right?" Tom asked fearfully.

The answer came in a groan. "O-oh!... Wow!... What hit me?"

"You got conked by a falling timber. Or grazed, at least," Tom added
thankfully. "If that beam had landed square on your noggin, even a
rock-head like you couldn't have survived!"

Bud managed to grin. "We grow 'em tough out in California where I come
from!" he joked.