"Don't ye wish ye was me, with all this money to have a good time on?"
he demanded, jeeringly, of Jack Benson. "But maybe ye've framed up
some kind of a yarn that yer boss, Farnum, will be willin' to believe.
If ye hain't, then mebbe ye'd better never git close to him again."

Dan Jaggers again turned his attention to his overcome uncle, kneeling
beside the ex-foreman and watching his face closely.

And then a strange thing happened, or so it would have seemed, had Dan
Jaggers possessed eyes in the back of his head. For Jack Benson
likewise his chum had striven many times through the night to free
their wrists of the cords that bound them. Jack was the first to
succeed, at a cost of hours of effort and thinking. He wriggled one hand
out from under the knots just as Dan turned for that last look at the
prostrate man.

How fearfully numbed Jack Benson's wrists were, after that long spell of
being tied up. Yet the boy knew that he must quickly restore circulation
there and get his hands ready for use before it was all too late.

It must be one swift, decisive, conquering stroke for honor's sake.

Jack's trembling right hand went into one of his trousers pockets. He
found his clasp-knife, yanked it out, opened one of the blades, and Hal
Hastings, who had been watching every move with breathless interest,
now rolled noiselessly so that his chum could reach the rope that held
him captive.

In another twinkling Hal was free. Just then, Jaggers, fancying he
heard some noise in their direction, turned slowly. By the time Jaggers