ld him.

"Mas' Don! Help, help!" roared Jem; and Don dashed at the gang, his
fists clenched, teeth set, and a curious singing noise in his ears. But
as he reached the spot where his companion was making a desperate
struggle for his liberty, Jem shouted again,--

"No, no! Mas' Don; run for it, my lad, and get help if you can."

Like a flash it occurred to Don that long before he could get help Jem
would be overpowered and carried off, and with the natural fighting
instinct fully raised, he struck out with all his might as he strove to
get to the poor fellow, who was writhing and heaving, and giving his
captors a tremendous task to hold him.

"Here, give him something to keep him quiet," growled a voice.

"No, no; get hold of his hands; that's right. Serve this cockerel the
same. Down with him, quick!" cried the officer sharply; and in
obedience to his words the men hung on to poor Jem so tenaciously that
he was dragged down on the rough pavement, and a couple of men sat
panting upon him while his wrists were secured, and his voice silenced
by a great bandage right over his mouth.

"You cowards!" Jem tried to roar, as, breathless with exertion,
bleeding from a sharp back-handed blow across the mouth, and giddy with
excitement and the effects of a rough encounter between his head and the
wall, Don made one more attempt to drag himself free, and then stood
panting and mastered by two strong men.

"Show the light," said the officer, and the lanthorn was held close to
Don's face.

"Well, if the boy can fight like that," said the officer, "he shall."

"Let us go," cried Don. "Help! He--"

A jacket was thrown over his head, as the officer said mockingly,--

"He shall fight for his Majesty the king. Now, my lads, quick. Some
one coming, and the wrong sort."

Don felt himself lifted off his feet, and half smothered by the hot
jacket which seemed to keep him from breathing, he was hurried along two
or three of the lanes, growing more faint and dizzy every moment, till
in the midst of a curious nightmare-like sensation, lights began
suddenly to dance before his eyes; then all was darkness, and he knew no
more till he seemed to wake up from a curious sensation of sickness, and
to be listening to Jem Wimble, who would keep on saying in a stupid,
aggravating manner,--"Mas' Don, are you there?"

The question must have been repeated many times before Don could get rid
of the dizzy feeling of confusion and reply,