Roger, and coming up behind the man he caught him by the arms. "Help me, boys; throw him down, and make him a prisoner."
"Not to-day!" roared the man, and struck out savagely with his club. He hit Dave a glancing blow on the arm, and the country boy retaliated by swinging his skates into the rascal's face. Then all sprang upon the man, and he was thrown to the floor. He struggled fiercely, but he was no match for so many, and at last they had him bound, hands and feet, with their skate-straps.
"You'll be sorry for this," said the rascal, glaring at Dave.
"I don't think so. You ought to be in prison," and Dave turned away to look at the man who had fallen to the floor.
He was of middle age, rather stout, and with a face that was browned and weather-beaten. It was not a bad face to look at, although just now the blood was streaming down one cheek from a cut on the temple. The man was unconscious and breathing heavily.
"He must have been hit pretty hard," was Phil's comment. "He is knocked out clean."
"Do you think he is dying?" questioned Ben.
"No, I don't think that. But he ought to have medical attention."
"Oh, he'll come around," growled the rascal
