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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Keep him down, boys!" yelled Coach Morton. Just before the coach sprinted to the spot Dave Darrin, then Tom Reade, and then Tom Purcell, hurled themselves into the fray. When the coach arrived he could not find a spot on red-face at which to take hold. The policeman, limping a bit, came up as fast as he could.
"Get outer my way!" roared red-face, turning slightly and running furiously at them. Dick's head was down, but that did not prevent his seeing through his long hair. "Get out of my way, you kid!" gasped the big fellow, halting in his amazement as he saw this youngster coming straight at him. Greg was off the sidewalk, running a few feet out from the gutter But Dick sailed straight in.
"Do you think we should go up the Dark Valley, or over the Rocky Knoll," said I, referring to two well-known spots a considerable distance from the fort. "The pale-face chief knows best." "Yes, but the pale-face asks what the red-face thinks," said I, somewhat amused by the answer.
"Will you young gentlemen help me to put these handcuffs on?" asked the officer, dangling a pair of steel bracelets. "Will we?" ejaculated Dave. "Whoop!" "Roll the fellow over!" called Dick Prescott. With a gleeful shout the squad members rolled red-face over, dragging his powerful arms behind his back. There was a scuffle, but Coach Morton helped.
Instead, he grappled with the fellow, just below the thighs, then straightened up somewhat -all quick as a flash. That big mountain of flesh swayed, then toppled. Red-face went down, not with a crash, but more after the manner of a collapse. As he fell, Greg darted in from the street and fell upon the big fellow's chest. In another instant young Prescott was a-top of the fellow.
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