Chapter XXVI
His Own Trap
“I reckon that’ll about do for you, my pretty young men,” remarked Blatchley Turrentine as he put the last knot in the line with which he was securing Andy to a splint-bottomed chair.
His concluding words were the refrain of a familiar old ballad, and he continued to hum this as he straightened up and set his hands on his hips, regarding the twins through wickedly narrowed eyes. He was flushed with drink and inclined, as always at such times, to swagger with a sort of savage playfulness.
“Scalf, you ain’t got yo’ feller half tied,” he broke out, jerking the cord around Jeff. “Why, Lord A’mighty! I could pull myse’f a-loose from that mess o’ rope inside o’ five minutes,” and he set to work to make his cousin secure.
“Do yo’ own dirty work,” growled Scalf. “Yo’ the only one that’s a-goin’ to profit by it.”
It was after midnight. When the two boys had approached Blatch’s cabin as agreed, they had been set upon from behind, pinioned, and taken to the cave where the still was. Here they now sat bound and helpless.
“What do you aim to make out of it, Blatch?” asked Jeff, offering the first remark that had come from either of them since their capture.
“Is—uh—” Andy glanced at Scalf, and strove to keep Huldah’s name out of it—“is what we come for here yet?”