Will of the Mill | Page 5

the artist, springing to his feet in a rage.
"You dogs! I see you!"
It was the truth the next moment, for Josh rushed off to get into safety,
closely followed by Will, whilst their victim gave chase.
Hunted creatures somehow in their hurry to escape pursuit, have a
natural inclination for taking the wrong route, the one which leads them
into danger when they are seeking to be safe.
It was so here. Josh led, and Will naturally followed; but his comrade
might have gone round by the mill, run for the stepping-stones, where
he could have crossed and made for the rough hiding-places known to
him on the other side of the stream; or he might have dodged for the
garden-gate, darted through, and made for the zig-zag path leading to
the open moorland; but instead of this, he dashed down to the waterside,
ran along by it, and then took the ascending path right up the glen,

getting more and more out of breath, and with Will panting heavily
close behind.
"Oh, you chucklehead!" cried the latter, huskily. "Why did you come
along here? You knew we couldn't go far."
"It's all right. He won't follow. He'll be tired directly; he's so fat."
"I don't care," cried Will, stealing a look over his shoulder; "fat or thin,
he's coming along as hard as he can pelt."
"Yes, but he's about done."
"He isn't, I tell you; he's coming faster than you can go. Go along: look
sharp!"
The boys ran on, Josh getting more and more breathless every moment,
while he began to lose heart as he heard the artist shouting to him to
stop.
"Here, Will," he cried, "which way had I better go? Up the long crack,
or make for the fox's path?"
"One's as bad as the other," cried Will. "Fox's path. Here, go on faster.
Let me lead; I know the way best. I never saw such an old chucklehead.
Why did you come this way?"
He brushed by his companion as he spoke, his legs making a whishing
sound as he tore through clumps of fern and brake, running on and on
over the rapidly-rising ground till the path was at an end, and they drew
closer to a spot where the rocks closed in, forming a cul de sac, unless
they were willing to take a leap of some twenty feet into a deep pool, or
climb up the rocky wall just in front.
"We can't jump," panted Will.
"No," half whispered Josh. "Oh, what a mess we are in! You will have
to beg his pardon, Will."

"You'll have to hold your tongue, or else we shall be caught. It's all
right; come on. I can get up here."
The boy proved it by springing at the rocky face, catching a projecting
block and the tufts of heath and heather, kicking down earth and stone
as he rose, and scrambling up some fifteen feet before gaining a
resting-place, to pause for a moment to look down and see how his
companion was getting on.
To his horror, Josh was almost at the bottom of the wall, and, scarlet
with fury and exertion, the artist panting heavily about two score yards
behind.
"I've got you, you dogs! It's no use, I've got you!"
"Oh!" groaned Will, ready to give up, wondering the while whether the
artist would thrash him with his elastic maul-stick.
"No, he hasn't," cried Josh. "Run, run! Never mind me."
"Shan't run," snarled Will, between his teeth. "Here, catch hold of my
hands."
He lay down on his chest, hooking his feet in amongst the tough roots
of the heather.
"Come on, I tell you! Catch hold."
Obeying the stronger will, Josh made a desperate scramble, putting
into it all the strength he had left, and, regardless of the angry shouts of
the artist, he scrambled up sufficiently high for Will to grasp him by the
wrists. He could do no more, for his feet slipped from beneath him, and
he hung helpless, and at full length, completely crippling his
companion, who had the full weight dependent on his own failing
strength.
Encouraged by this, the breathless artist made his final rush, and
succeeded in getting Josh by the ankles, holding on tightly in spite of

the boy's spasmodic movement, for as he felt the strong hands grasp his
legs, he uttered a yell, and began to perform motions like those of a
swimming frog.
"Be quiet! Don't!" roared Will. "You'll have me down."
"Let go, you dog!" shouted the artist. "I've got him now."
"Let go yourself," cried Will, angrily. "Can't you see you are pulling me
down?"
"Oh, yes, I can see. Let go yourself."
"Shan't!" growled Will, through his set teeth. "Kick out, Josh, and send
him over."