There ensued a series of bluffs at torture on Clancy’s part, but they had not the slightest effect on Carson.
But Bully Carson stood pat. The first shock of alarm over, he resisted all of Clancy’s efforts with a grim silence that could not be broken. He knew that he was helpless, but he also knew that despite Clancy’s talk the red-haired chap would not dare to proceed to extremities. And as long as he could hold silence, he intended to do so. Merriwell must be kept out of that Franklin game. He knew that his father had gone to Fardale and would doubtless plunge heavily on the result of the game. Since money meant more than anything else to the Carson family, Bully intended making a hard fight of it.
He did so. Clancy and Billy built a roaring fire in the old fireplace when darkness came on. This took the damp from the main room of the farmhouse, and rendered it habitable. They ate some of their provisions, refusing to give Carson anything to eat or drink. Finally Clancy gave up in disgust.
“All right,” he said grimly to the prisoner. “You’ll stay here a month if you don’t loosen up, old scout. Billy, we’ll take turns keeping him awake to-night. He must have been on the go most of last night and to-day, and that’ll bring him to terms.”
When morning dawned, Bully Carson was haggard and drawn, but still refused to open his lips. Clancy was desperate. Thirsty and hungry though their captive was, nothing seemed to have any effect. Yet their only hope of rescuing Chip Merriwell lay in making him talk.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Clancy, when the morning was half gone. “Billy, we’re up against it. Right or wrong, that fellow’s going to talk.”
“You’re not going to really torture him?” asked the white-lipped Billy.
“I am.”