I fool those who follow--" Obeying, Heywood dove to the left into the black slit of an alley, while the other fugitive pattered straight on into the seeming trap, with a yelp of encouragement to the band who swept after.

The alley was too dark for speed.

Heywood ran on, fell, rose and ran, fell again, losing his spear.

A pair of trembling hands eagerly helped him to his feet.
"My cozin's boy, he ron quick," said Wutzler.

"Dose fellows, dey not catch him! Kom." They threaded the gloom swiftly.