“Still I refuse to believe it!”
“Waugh! Who cares!” growled Dugan. “We’ve got ye, and we’ll fix ye so you’ll never worry anybody again. We can’t stand here and chin all the afternoon with ye. Face around. So. Now march.”
Back along the path Frank marched, with his hands tied behind his back, his ruffianly captors following him. Now he knew Elder Jones was no true minister, but was an impostor. Without doubt Jones was a smuggler, like Dugan.
Back to the float they went, and the men made Frank get into the boat. They entered also, put up the sail, cast off and headed toward the great forest that stretched along the shore.
Frank looked at the vast woods and wondered whither they were taking him. Now for him those woods, so beautiful a short time ago, were full of terrors. In their dark depths all traces of a crime might be hidden away forever. If they carried him into the forest, would he ever come forth alive?
More and more he regretted that he had not made some kind of a stroke for his life, when he came face to face with Dugan, for now he was powerless to do anything.
Frank had some friends, good and true, but they were far away, and could not come to his aid. How he longed for the assistance of the powerful arm of Bruce Browning!
Would they ever know what had happened to him?
The boat ran into a small cove after crossing from the island, and soon the three were on shore. Again Frank was compelled to march before them, and soon they came to a path that led from the cove into the forest.
The great trees loomed above their heads. It was gloomy there beneath them, though the sun was shining so brightly.