He soon found that his captors meant to remove him from the spot, for he was lifted from the ground and tossed into the bottom of the wagon, like a sack of grain. Then the men climbed in, the horses were whipped up, and away they all went.
After a drive of at least two hours, during which Frank had several times asked where they were taking him, and had been repeatedly cautioned to "shut up," the team came to a halt.
Frank was glad of it, for much of the distance had been made over rough roads, and he had been several times menaced in order to keep him quiet, and once choked into silence by two of the men, who sat upon him while they passed another team.
Frank was taken from the wagon, his feet were set at liberty, and he was marched into some sort of a building.
"There," said the hoarse voice of the leader. "He's safe and solid here."
Through the blindfold there was a glow of light, and then the cloth was removed from his eyes.
Frank found himself in a rough room, to which there seemed to be no windows and but one door. In the room there was a table, a broken chair, and a rude sort of bed.
One of the two men who had brought him into the room coolly sat down astride the chair, and stared at Frank, his eyes gleaming by the flaring light of the tallow-dip that burned on the table.
"Set down," invited the man, making a motion toward the bed. "We offer our visitors the upholstered furniture out of courtesy. Make yourself at home."