properly served; their chance had past; most of them had now
to shoot against the sun; and Selden, as he ran, bounded from side to
side to baffle and deceive their aim. Best of all, by turning up the
glade he had defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted
higher up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the
confusion of the foresters' counsels soon became apparent. A whistle
sounded thrice, and then again twice. It was repeated from another
quarter. The woods on either side became full of the sound of people
bursting through the underwood; and a bewildered deer ran out into the
open, stood for a second on three feet, with nose in air, and then
plunged again into the thicket.

Selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but
still would miss. It began to appear as if he might escape. Dick had his
bow armed, ready to support him; even Matcham, forgetful of his
interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive; and both lads
glowed and trembled in the ardour of their hearts.

He was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow struck him and he fell.
He was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering,
and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction.

Dick leaped to his feet and waved to him.

"Here!" he cried. "This way! here is help! Nay, run, fellow--run!"

But just then a second arrow struck Selden in the shoulder, between the
plates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack, brought him,
like a stone, to earth.

"O, the poor heart!" cried Matcham, with clasped hands.

And Dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery.

Ten to one he had speedily been shot--for the foresters were furious
with themselves, and taken unawares by Dick's appearance in the rear of
their position--but instantly, out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly
near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of Ellis
Duckworth.

"Hold!" it roared. "Shoot not! Take him alive! It is young
Shelton--Harry's son."

And immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was
again taken up and repeated farther off. The whistle, it appeared, was
John Amend-All's battle trumpet, by which he published his directions.

"Ah, foul fortune!" cried Dick. "We are undone. Swiftly, Jack, come
swiftly!"

And the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that
covered the summit of the hill.

CHAPTER VI

TO THE DAY'S END