And once more he sprang forward, while the fellow on his back, with a groan of pain, staggered up to lend his assistance in the struggle.
But now came help for Matt and Andy from an unexpected quarter. There was a crashing through the brush, and a tall form the thieves did not recognize burst into view. It was Ramson, the mountaineer.
“Wot’s a-going on here, anyway?” shouted the mountaineer in a tone of wonder. “Fighting worse nor a lot of bears, I declare! Wot’s it all about?”
“Help us, won’t you?” cried Matt. “These are 212 the fellows who stole the turn-out, and they will not give it up.”
“Won’t, hey? Well, it’s your’n, ain’t it?”
“It certainly is, and if you will help us you shall have that reward,” put in Andy. “This is the main thief, and the other two are helping him,” and he pointed to Paul Barberry.
Without more ceremony, the tall mountaineer strode forward and caught Barberry by the shoulder and gave him such a twist about that the pretended doctor howled with pain.
“These two young men are honest fellows, I take it,” he said. “And if you imagine you can do them out of their rights you are mistaken, at least so long as I am around. Now just you stand still while I attend to your helpers, and I’ll—hullo! if they ain’t gone and run away!”
Ramson was right. Hardly had he made his little speech than Paul Barberry’s two companions had taken time by the forelock and made a rush for the brush. Matt and Andy dashed after them, but it was useless, for a few seconds later they disappeared in the darkness.