“We are going on,” he said to the boy, “and if you interfere with us it will be the worse for you.”
The boy descended leisurely from his position on the rocks.
“Oi don’t want to hurt ee, but oi’ve got to do as oi were bid, and if ee doan’t go back oi’ve got to make ee. There be summat a-going on thar,” and he jerked his head behind him, “as it wouldn’t be good vor ee to see, and ye bain’t a-going vor to see it.”
But Ned and Tompkins were desperate now, and dropping their rods made a rush together against him.
CHAPTER II: THE FIGHT ON THE MOOR
The lad threw himself into a position of defense as the two boys rushed at him.
“Oi doan’t want vor to hurt ee,” he said again, “but if ee will have it, why, it won’t be moi vault;” and swinging his arm round, he brought it down with such force upon the nose of Tompkins that the latter was knocked down like a ninepin, and, once down, evinced no intention of continuing the conflict.
In Ned, however, the lad found an opponent of a different stamp. The latter saw at once that his opponent’s far greater weight and strength rendered it hopeless for him to trust to close fighting, and he worked round and round him, every now and then rushing at him and delivering a telling blow, and getting off again before his heavy and comparatively unwieldy companion could reply.
Once or twice, indeed, the lad managed to strike him as he came in, each time knocking him fairly off his feet; but in the fair spirit which at that time animated English men and boys of all classes he allowed Ned each time to regain his feet without interference.
“Thou bee’st a plucky one,” he said, as Ned after his third fall again faced him, “but thou bain’t strong enough for oi.”
Ned made no reply, but nerved himself for a fresh effort. The blows he had received had been heavy, and the blood was streaming from his face; but he had no idea of giving in, although Tompkins, in spite of his calls and reproaches, refused to raise himself beyond a sitting position.
“It’s no good, Ned,” he replied, “the brute is too big for us, and I’d rather try to walk home all the way round than get another like the last. My nose feels as big as my head.”
Ned hardly heard what his companion said. He would have been killed rather than yield now, and gathering all his strength he sprang at his opponent like a tiger. Avoiding the blow which the boy aimed at him, he leaped upon him, and flung his arms round his neck. The sudden shock overthrew him, and with a crash both boys came to the ground together.
Ned at once loosened his hold, and springing to his feet again, awaited the rising of his opponent. The latter made a movement to get up, and then fell back with a cry.
“Thou hast beaten me,” he said. “Oi think moi leg be broke.”
Ned saw now that as the lad had fallen his leg had been twisted under him, and that he was unable to extricate it. In a moment he was kneeling before the prostrate lad.
“Oh! I am sorry,” he exclaimed; “but you know I didn’t mean to do it. Here, Tompkins, don’t sit there like a fool, but come and help me move him and get his leg straight.”
Although the boys did this as gently as they could, a groan showed how great was the agony.
“Where is it?” Ned asked.
“Aboove the knee somewhere,” the lad said, and Ned put his hand gently to the spot, and to his horror could feel something like the end of a bone.
“Oh! dear, what is to be done? Here, Tompkins, either you or I must go on to the town for help.”
“It’s getting dark already,” Tompkins said; “the sun has set some time. How on earth is one to find the way?”
“Well, if you like I will go,” Ned said, “and you stop here with him.”
The lad, who had been lying with closed eyes and a face of ghastly pallor, now looked up.
“There be soom men not a quarter of a mile away; they be a-drilling, they be, and oi was sot here to stop any one from cooming upon em; but if so bee as thou wilt go and tell em oi has got hurt, oi don’t suppose as they will meddle with ye.”
Ned saw now why the lad had opposed his going any further. Some of the croppers were drilling on the moor, and the boy had been placed as sentry. It wasn’t a pleasant business to go up to men so engaged, especially with the news that he had seriously injured the boy they had placed on watch. But Ned did not hesitate a moment.
“You stop here, Tompkins, with him,” he said quietly, “I will go and fetch help. It is a risk, of course, but we can’t let him lie here.”
So saying, Ned mounted the rock to get a view over the moor. No sooner had he gained the position than he saw some thirty or forty men walking in groups across the moor at a distance of about half a mile. They had evidently finished their drill, and were making their way to their homes. This at least was satisfactory. He would no longer risk their anger by disturbing them at their illegal practices, and had now only to fear the wrath which would be excited when they heard what had happened to the boy.
He started at a brisk run after them, and speedily came up to the last of the party. They were for the most part men between twenty and thirty, rough and strongly built, and armed with billhooks and heavy bludgeons, two or three of them carrying guns.
One of them looked round on hearing footsteps approaching, and gave a sudden exclamation. The rest turned, and on seeing Ned, halted with a look of savage and menacing anger on their faces.
“Who be’est, boy? dang ee, what brings ye here?”
Ned gulped down the emotion of fear excited by their threatening appearance, and replied as calmly as he could: “I am sorry to say that I have had a struggle with a boy over by that rock yonder. We fell together, and he has broken his leg. He told me if I came over in this direction I should find some one to help him.”
“Broaken Bill’s leg, did’st say, ye young varmint?” one of the men exclaimed. “Oi’ve a good moinde to wring yer neck.”
“I am very sorry,” Ned said; “but I did not mean it. I and another boy were walking back to Marsden from fishing, and he wouldn’t let us pass; it was too far to go back again, so of course we had to try, and then there was a fight, but it was quite an accident his breaking his leg.”
“Did’st see nowt afore ye had the voight?” one of the other men inquired.
“No,” Ned replied; “we saw no one from the time we left the stream till we met the boy who would not let us pass, and I only caught sight of you walking this way from the top of the rock.”
“If ‘twere a vair voight, John, the boy bain’t to be blamed, though oi be main grieved about thy brother Bill; but we’d best go back for him, voor on us. And moind, youngster, thee’d best keep a quiet tongue in thy head as to whaat thou’st seen here.”
“I haven’t seen anything,” Ned said; “but of course if you wish it I will say nothing about it.”
“It were best for ee, for if thou go’st aboot saying thou’st seen men with guns and clubs up here on the moor, it ull be the worsest day’s work ee’ve ever done.”
“I will say nothing about it,” Ned replied, “but please come on at once, for I am afraid the boy is in terrible pain.”
Four of the men accompanied Ned back to the rock.
“Hullo, Bill! what’s happened ee?” his brother asked.
“Oi’ve had a fight and hurted myself, and broke my leg; but it wa’nt that chap’s fault; it were a vair voight, and a right good ‘un he be. Doan’t do nowt to him.”
“Well, that’s roight enough then,” the man said, “and you two young ‘uns can go whoam. Marsden lies over that way; thou wilt see it below ye when ye gets to yon rock over there; and moind what I told ee.”
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