Recovering himself, he dashed on.  He could still hear the lumbering footsteps of the tramp.  And then suddenly, out of the blackness ahead of Tom there came a strange sound.  It was like a grunt.  Then the echo of voices.

“Look out where you’re going!” someone exclaimed.

“Get out of my way!” snarled another, 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 I am about it all!”