The four men who had charge of Haviland came back from their consultation with the others. When they were near the place where they had left their victim, a man appeared, climbing out. This called for investigation; they bounded along through the gulch and came up with the fellow. To their surprise it was Haviland with his bandage off and the rope nowhere. It was the first time a man had ever tried to give them the slip. He should pay for it! Cap. Smith threw himself on the Freshman at the first glimpse of his face. In a jiffy there was a new bandage over his eyes and another rope coiled around his waist; this time it included his hands. He struggled resolutely, but in silence, for his breath had left him when he struck the ground with Smith on top.
They seized him firmly and ran him at breakneck speed over a terrible course, heading for an old well which waters a back pasture. Here they stopped, spent with running.
"On your knees, Professor!" gasped Pellams, with as much authority as his lack of breath would allow.
The panting victim remained standing.
"Down!" accompanied by a resounding blow of a barrel stave.
Still no movement, but a gurgle was heard as though speech was being labored for.
Biff!
The unfortunate creature sprawled beside the well, but struggled up again to a half-kneeling posture.
"This—must—stop!" he gasped, painfully. "It—is—an—outrage. I—am——"
"No levity, sir!" said Smith. "You've got to do what we say, Professor, or you won't get in at all."