n't do it," retorted the boy. "Leave go!"

Rosher leaned forward, and giving his friend a nudge, uttered the one
word,--

"_Bolt_!"

Jack's blood was up. He wrenched himself free of the man's grasp, and
plunged into the little crowd of riff-raff, striking heavy blows to
right and left. Rosher did the same; and the enemy, who were nothing
but a pack of barking curs, went down like ninepins, falling over one
another in their efforts to escape.

The two fugitives rushed on, stumbling over tent-ropes and dodging
round the booths and stalls, until they came to the outskirts of the
fair. Then they paused to take breath and consider what was to be done
next. The glare of the burning canvas and a noise of distant shouting,
which could be clearly distinguished above the other babel of sounds,
showed the quarter from which they had come.

"Where's Raymond?" cried Jack.

"I don't know," answered Rosher; "we can't wait here, or we shall be
collared."

"Didn't you see what became of him? I don't like the thought of
leaving the fellow--"

The sentence was never finished; for at that moment two men suddenly
appeared from behind a neighbouring stall. One was arrayed in a blue
uniform with bright buttons, and his companion was at once recognized
by the boys as being the proprietor of the cocoa-nut pitch.

"Here they are!" shouted the latter, catching hold of the policeman's
arm; "now we've got 'em!"

[Illustration: "'Here they are! now we've got them!'"]

Quick as thought the two schoolfellows turned and dashed off at the top
of their speed. Beyond the outskirts of the fair all lay in darkness;
a high hedge loomed in front of them. Jack scrambled up the bank,
crashed through the thorn bushes, and fell heavily to the ground on the
other side. In an instant he had regained his feet, and was running
for his life with Rosher by his side. In this manner they crossed
three fields, stumbling over uneven places in the ground, scratching
their hands, and tearing their clothes in the hedges, and at length
landed nearly up to their knees in a ditch half-full of mud and water.

"It's no good, Fenleigh, I can't go any further. I'm completely
pumped."

Struggling on to a bit of rising ground, the fugitives halted and
turned round to listen. The glare of light and noise of the fair had
been left some distance behind them, and there were no sounds of
pursuit. The night was very dark, and everything in their immediate
nei