er, and Tom recognized the tramp's
tones.
"Ray! Ray Blake!" cried Tom, as he again heard the first voice. "Hold
that man! Don't let him get away. That's Jake Crouse!"
CHAPTER XXIV
CORNERED
Tom Fairfield heard the sound of a struggle ahead of him in the
blackness. He heard the panting of breaths, heavily drawn, and the
impact of blows.
"I'm coming, Ray! I'm coming. Hold him!" yelled Tom. "Don't let him
get away!"
"I--I won't, Tom!" was the answer. "But--hurry up!"
Tom sprang forward, but it was almost his undoing, for he slipped in
the mud and went down heavily. For a moment he lay in the slime and
water, with the rain beating on him, and the wind whipping about him,
half stunned.
"Worse than ever!" he murmured, making a wry face. "Tve got to hop on
and help Ray."
Just touching the toes of his injured foot to the ground, and hopping
on his uninjured leg, our hero made his way forward to where he could
hear the struggle going on between the tramp and the youth called Ray.
"Let go of me!" snarled the tramp. "I'll fix you for this!"
"You've nearly fixed me already, Jake," was the grim response. "I'm
not going to let you go. Where are you, Tom?"
"Coming!" Tom hopped on, slipping and stumbling. As he neared the
struggling figures he stepped on something round that rolled under his
foot, and he picked it up. It was the tramp's flashlight, and an
instant later Tom had focused the brilliant rays on the struggling
figures. He saw that Ray had the man in a tight grip, while the ragged
fellow was beating the lad in an endeavor to break the hold.
"That'll do!" cried Tom, and, thrusting the electric torch into his own
pocket, he clasped the tramp's arms from behind. Then the battle was
practically over, for the two lads could easily handle the man, whose
breath was nearly spent from his running.
"Do you give up?" asked Tom, still holding the man's elbows.
"I s'pose I've got to," was the half-growled answer. "You've got me
cornered."
"And you'll be cornered worse than this before I'm done with you!" said
Tom grimly. "Are you hurt, Ray?"
"Not much. A few scratches and some blows in the face. But what's the
matter with you, Tom? You're lame."
"Yes, my ankle is on the blink--football game to-day; just before I got
your letter. Oh, but I'm glad I reached you in time!"
"Yes, you just caught me. I'd been on my way West to-morrow. Oh Tom,
I can't tell you how sorry
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