"Cheer up a little," said Stagers. "Take a nip of whisky. Things ain't
at the worst, by a good bit. You just get ready, and we'll start by the
morning train. Guess you'll try out something smart enough as we travel
along. Ain't got a heap of time to lose."

I was silent. A great anguish had me in its grip. I might squirm as I
would, it was all in vain. Hideous plans rose to my mind, born of this
agony of terror. I might murder Stagers, but what good would that do?
As to File, he was safe from my hand. At last I became too confused to
think any longer. "When do we leave?" I said feebly.

"At six to-morrow," he returned.

How I was watched and guarded, and how hurried over a thousand miles of
rail to my fate, little concerns us now. I find it dreadful to recall it
to memory. Above all, an aching eagerness for revenge upon the man who
had caused me these sufferings was uppermost in my mind. Could I not
fool the wretch and save myself? Of a sudden an idea came into my
consciousness. Then it grew and formed itself, became possible,
probable, seemed to me sure. "Ah," said I, "Stagers, give me something
to eat and drink." I had not tasted food for two days.

Within a day or two after my arrival, I was enabled to see File in his
cell, on the plea of being a clergyman from his native place.

I found that I had not miscalculated my danger. The man did not appear
to have the least idea as to how I was to help him. He only knew that I
was in his power, and he used his control to insure that something more
potent than friendship should be enlisted in his behalf. As the days