“Then what shall we do?” asked Jack.
“Go back to Camp No. 2,” answered Sam. “Tom may be there. If he isn’t, we’ll go to the others in turn. Let’s go back. We’ll drive.”
So, abandoning the search for the time being, they started back for camp in the pung, drawn by the powerful horses. They were hoping against hope that Tom would be there, or that they would find him at one of the other cabins.
But Tom was still a prisoner in the dark closet of the lonely shack. What his thoughts were you can well imagine, but, above everything else stood out the determination not to give in and sign the letter asking for the ransom money.
Hours passed. Tom again felt the pangs of hunger. He had an idea the men might try to starve him, but after an interval, which he imagined brought the time to noon, Murker came in with some bread and water.
“Boss’s orders,” he growled. “I’ll untie your hands while you eat, and don’t try any tricks.”
Tom did not answer. The bread was welcome, but the water more so. Murker left him a glass full after he had once emptied the tumbler. Then the ropes were again put on his hands, and he was left alone in the darkness.
Whether it was the same day or not, Tom could hardly tell. He must have dozed, for he awoke with a start, and he knew at once that some noise had caused it.
He listened intently, and heard a scratching, sniffing sound back of him. He could feel the board side of the shack, against which he was leaning, vibrate.
“Can it be that the boys are trying to release me?” Tom asked himself. But in another moment he knew this could not be true. His chums would come boldly up and not try to get him out in this secret fashion. The scratching and sniffing increased.