ng to brush past the gang-leader.

But with a quick blow Brick Simpson struck him in the face, and with
equal quickness snatched the bundle of kites from under his arm.

Joe uttered an inarticulate cry of rage, and, all caution flung to the
winds, sprang at his assailant.

This was evidently a surprise to the gang-leader, who expected least of
all to be attacked in his own territory. He retreated backward, still
clutching the kites, and divided between desire to fight and desire to
retain his capture.

The latter desire dominated him, and he turned and fled swiftly down
the narrow side-street into a labyrinth of streets and alleys. Joe knew
that he was plunging into the wilderness of the enemy's country, but
his sense of both property and pride had been offended, and he took up
the pursuit hot-footed.

Fred and Charley followed after, though he outdistanced them, and behind
came the three other members of the gang, emitting a whistling call while
they ran which was evidently intended for the assembling of the rest of
the band. As the chase proceeded, these whistles were answered from many
different directions, and soon a score of dark figures were tagging at
the heels of Fred and Charley, who, in turn, were straining every muscle
to keep the swifter-footed Joe in sight.

Brick Simpson darted into a vacant lot, aiming for a "slip," as such
things are called which are prearranged passages through fences and
over sheds and houses and around dark holes and corners, where the
unfamiliar pursuer must go more carefully and where the chances are
many that he will soon lose the track.

But Joe caught Brick before he could attain his end, and together they
rolled over and over in the dirt, locked in each other's arms. By the
time Fred and Charley and the gang had come up, they were on their feet,
facing each other.

"Wot d' ye want, eh?" the red-headed gang-leader was saying in a bullying
tone. "Wot d' ye want? That 's wot I wanter know."

"I want my kites," Joe answered.

Brick Simpson's eyes sparkled at the intelligence. Kites were something
he stood in need of himself.

"Then you 've got to fight fer 'em," he announced.

"Why should I fight for them?" Joe demanded indignantly. "They 're mine."
Which went to show how ignorant he was of the ideas of ownership and
property rights which obtained among the People of the Pit.

A chorus of jeers and catcalls went up from the gang, which clustered
behind its leader lik