Josiah Crabtree sat up and then tried to get to his feet.  There was a cut on his forehead from which the blood was flowing.

“Oh! oh!” cried the man and put his hand to his left leg.  It was twisted under him in a peculiar fashion.  To get up on it was impossible, and Crabtree fell back with a cry of pain and fright.

“My leg!  It is broken!  Oh, what shall I do?  Rover, please help me!” And the former teacher turned a look of genuine misery on Tom.

“Let me examine it,” said the boy, in a more kindly tone.  He approached the man and felt of the injured limb.  By the way it was doubled up Tom felt certain it must be broken, perhaps in two places.

“I don’t know what I can do,” said Tom.  “I guess you need a doctor.  I’ll carry you to the barn, if you say so—­ or into the house.”

“Can’t you—­ you——­” began Josiah Crabtree, and then another look of pain crossed his face and he fainted.

Alarmed, Tom picked up the tall, thin form and carried the man into the house, for it was still raining, although not as hard as before.  He placed Crabtree on an old couch in the sitting room and, getting some water, laid a wet cloth over his bruised and swelling forehead.  Knowing but little about broken limbs, he did not attempt to do anything for the broken leg but placed that member out in a somewhat straight position.  He called up to Dick and told his brother of what had happened.

“Keep the other fellows up there, Tom!” yelled back the big brother.  “Don’t let ’em get away!”

At this Tom ran out of the house once more.  With the fall of Crabtree had come the greater portion of the blanket-rope.  Pelter had disappeared from the window, and evidently he and Japson were in consultation.

“See here, Rover, we want to talk to you!” called out the broker, reappearing at the window a minute later.  “Call your brothers.”

“What do you want?”

“We want to fix matters up with you.”

“You can do that after you are in jail.”

“You’ll gain nothing by having us arrested.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“We have got the upper hand in those deals with your father and if you have us locked up we won’t let go—­ no matter what happens,” put in Japson.

“We’ll make you let go,” returned Tom, with determination.  “You fellows have reached the end of your string, and the sooner you realize it the better it will be for you.”

“Bah!  Do you think we’ll give up the things we have fought so hard to get?  Not much!”

While Japson was speaking Pelter had stepped back into the garret.  Now he came again to the window, at the same time whispering to his companion.

“Hello, Dixon!” he called, as if to somebody behind Tom.

As was but natural, the youth below turned quickly, thinking some friend of the broker’s had appeared.  The moment Tom turned, Pelter hurled something down at him.  It was an old wooden footstool, and it struck the youth squarely on the head.  Down went poor Tom in the grass, senseless.