CHAPTER XXXII.—MART A PRISONER.
Mart was nearly dumfounded.
It was so unexpected, this meeting, that he was almost too paralyzed to move.
He gave a faint cry of alarm. Porler heard it and looked in his direction.
“Ah, so there you are!” he sang out. “I thought I would find you somewhere in the vicinity!”
He ran toward the lad.
Instinctively Mart turned to flee.
“Stop!” he cried. And he made after the boy at a greater speed.
Mart did not answer him, but ran the faster.
But the boy was no match for the old balloonist, who in his day had been a swift runner.
He kept gaining on Mart, and seeing this, the lad ran toward a clump of bushes.
Mart dived into the midst of these, and thus managed to get out of his sight.
“You can’t escape me,” cried Porler in a rage. “You might as well stop right where you are.”
Mart made no reply, but kept on.
Presently he came to a tall tree.
This gave him an idea. Mart could climb like a monkey, and up the tree he went with great speed.
When Porler reached the spot he was out of sight, and the old balloonist went on.
“Oh, how I hope he will go far enough away,” said Mart to himself.
Soon he could hear no more of Porler.
Thinking him gone, he cautiously descended the tree.
Barely had his feet touched the ground than he felt a rough hand on his shoulder.
“I thought you were here,” cried the old balloonist in his harsh tone. “You can’t get away from me now, Mart Keene.”
“Let me go!” he panted. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
“Touch you? Well, I guess that’s cool. As if you didn’t belong to me!”
“I don’t belong to you. You haven’t the first claim on me.”
“We’ll see about that. Didn’t I take you out of the street and feed and clothe you, and——”
“Made me work like a horse to pay for it,” finished the boy. “You have got more out of me than I ever cost you, ten times over, so there!”
“You’ll come along with me—willingly or unwillingly,” growled Porler. “Give me your hand.”
He tried to catch hold of Mart. He snatched his arm away.
Filled with rage, he struck the lad a cruel blow full in the face.
It staggered Mart, and he nearly went to the ground.
Then he picked Mart up and put him over his shoulder.
At once the boy began to scream for help.
“Shut up!” growled Porler.
For reply Mart screamed louder.
Then Porler threw him down, poured some chloroform he had in a bottle on his handkerchief and applied it to Mart’s nose.
The boy struggled vainly for a few minutes and then became limp in his arms.
“Ah, that did the business,” Porler murmured to himself. “Glad I brought the chloroform along.”
He took Mart to his carriage and placed him inside, covering him with several robes.
When Mart came to his senses he found himself in a little room. The door was locked and the one window was nailed up tightly. He was a close prisoner.
The boy had been placed on a cot in the corner, and now sat up and gazed around in bewilderment.
“Where am I?” he thought.
Then the full realization of what had happened burst upon the boy, and he gave way to tears.
“That bad man! What does he intend to do with me?”
Hour after hour went by and no one came to Mart.
There was a pitcher of water in the room and a loaf of bread, both on a stand close at hand.
He drank some of the water, but could not eat.
He knew it was night. Slowly the hours dragged by until morning.
Not long after this the door was unlocked and Porler came into the room.
“Awake, are you?” he said. “Hope you slept well.”
“You monster!” Mart cried. “What are you going to do with me?”
“I’ll tell you. I am going to make you promise on your bended knees that you will travel with me as you used to do, and obey all my commands.”
“I’ll never promise anything like that,” exclaimed Mart, recoiling with horror.
“You will, or else—” The old balloonist paused.
“Or else what?”
“I will keep you here, and starve you into submission.”