revenge themselves either on the owners or on those who had
become its guardians and protectors. Some one recognized the buggy and
Manners as they flashed by a lamp-post, and shouted his name. "Head 'em
off!" "Stop 'em!" "Shoot 'em!" "Kill the bloody hounds!" were the only
intelligible yells, and the gangs of "toughs" and tramps along the
street and among the lumber piles yelled mad echo to the cry. Stones and
other missiles came whirling through the night, some striking the mare
and redoubling her wild speed, some clattering upon the buggy top, some
few, better aimed, and from the front, whizzing into the buggy itself.
One of these stung Manners on the cheek, just as Fred, bending low to
dodge another, shouted to his companion, "Turn her to the right--next
street--it's our only chance."

Not a second too soon. Galloping now, the game little mare was hard to
guide, but Manners stood up and fairly dragged her around the corner,
the dust whirling in clouds from the flashing wheels, the buggy nearly
capsizing by the sudden turn. Here they came face to face and easily
burst through a little knot of rioters running to join the crowd on the
street they had just left, a yell of battled rage following them as they
went dashing away up the dim, dusty lane. "Courage! Only three blocks
more and we're safe," said Fred, as the manager, his grim mouth set,
gripped hard at the reins and strove to regain control. But the mare was
mad with fear and excitement now, and at the very next cross street
swerved to the left, the shortest line to her stable. The buggy
careened, whirled against the wooden curb, and in another instant,
shooting its occupants across the sidewalk, went bounding and dashing up
the street, shedding spokes, tires, cushions, and springs with every
jump, and landing, a moment later, only a dangling wreck at the heels of
the reeking mare in the hands of Company L, still ranked in front of the
shops.

"It's Manners's buggy," cried Sercombe, "and he's spilled out somewhere
up the street. The mob have got him. Save him if it's a possible thing."

So, too, said the Captain, and forty men of the "Backwoods Boys," as L
was facetiously termed by the city companies, went doubling down the
dusty street, peering eagerly ahead through the darkness.

[Illustration: "STAND BACK!" HE SHOUTED, "OR I'LL FIRE!"]

Not a moment too soon, either. Stunned, bruised, and blinded, Mr.
Manners lay like a log upon the wooden walk; but Fred, l