Among the last to fight their way in were Game, Ashley, Tipper, and a few other seniors, who, truants as they were, had yet, to their credit, assumed the place of danger in the rear, where the crowd pressed thickest and with most violence. A sorry spectacle were some of these heroes when finally they plunged into the playground and then turned at bay at the gate.
“All in!” shouted a voice, and immediately a rush was made to close the gates and prevent further entrance, when a loud cry of “Hold on, Willoughby! Rescue here!” held them back.
Riddell started at the sound, and next moment had vaulted from the low window to the ground, closely followed by Fairbairn.
“Rescue! rescue! Man down!” cried the school within.
“Keep them in!—shut them in!” cried the roughs without.
“It’s young Wyndham!” said Riddell, rushing wildly to the front; “he’ll be murdered!”
“Scrag him!—scrag the schoolboy!” yelled the roughs, making a rush in the direction of the cries.
Not a moment was to be lost; in another minute it might be too late to do any good, and, with a tremendous shout of “Rescue, Willoughby!” the school turned as wildly to get out of the playground as it had just now struggled to get in.
The captain and Fairbairn were the first to get through the gate, followed closely by the other seniors. Riddell was conscious of seeing young Wyndham lying a few yards off among the feet of the roughs, and of being himself carried forward to within reach of him; then of a blow from behind, which sent him forward, half-stunned, right on to the top of his young friend.
After that Riddell was only dimly conscious of what passed, and it was not until he found himself once more in the playground, being helped along by Fairbairn towards the house, that he took in the fact that the rescue had been accomplished, and that the battle was at an end.