Then he started up, and raised
his spade threateningly.
"Drop that, Baizley, or I'll blow a hole in you!" cried Will, springing
at his neck.
At this instant the silent figure flung itself adroitly off the dike,
dropping the spade and eluding Will's grasp. It started swiftly across
the muddy flat, the two boys close on its heels.
For a few yards the boys just held their own. Then Ted, being the
swifter, forged ahead. In a few seconds more he overtook the fugitive,
sprang upon his neck, and bore him headlong to the ground. The next
moment, before either could recover, Will had come up, and his iron
grip was on the stranger's throat.
"No nonsense, now," said Will, in a voice that carried conviction,
at the same time tapping the fellow's cranium lightly with his club.
"If you don't want the life half pounded out of you, keep still!"
The fellow lay quiet, only gasping:
"Don't choke me!"
Will relaxed his grip, and then exclaimed to Ted, in astonishment:
"Why, it ain't Baizley!"
"Course, it ain't!" growled the fallen one, sullenly, appearing
indignant at the imputation.
"Sit up, and let's look at the fellow that goes round nights cutting
people's dikes!" commanded Will.
The fellow turned over on his face.
"Sit up!" repeated Will, in a cold voice, which sounded as if he was
in earnest.
"Why," exclaimed Ted. "If it isn't Jim Hutchings!"
"Old Hand's man, eh? I begin to smell a mouse," said Will, sarcastically.
"It's as plain as a pikestaff!" almost shouted Ted.
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