“Same here,” said Dick.
Frank struck a match on the cemented wall. A cold wind from the interior of the building came rushing through the open door and blew it out. It was like the breath of some dangerous, unseen monster hidden within the mission. Merry promptly struck another match. This time he shaded it with his hands and protected it until it sprang into a strong glow. Then, with his hands concaved behind it, he advanced through the doorway, throwing its light forward. Almost immediately an exclamation escaped his lips, for a few feet within, lying on the cold floor, he discovered a human form. As he bent over the figure, he saw to his dismay it was the monk from whose body the brown cloak had been stripped.
Then the match went out.
“Is he dead, Frank?” whispered Dick.
“I can’t tell,” answered Merry. “I didn’t get a fair look at him. We will know in a moment.”
He lighted another match and bent over the prostrate man. The light showed him the eyes of the monk fixed stonily on his face. It also showed him that a gag had been forced between the old man’s teeth and fastened there. The father was bound securely with a lariat.
“He is far from dead!” exclaimed Merry, in satisfaction. “Here, Dick, cut this rope and set him free. Get that gag out of his mouth, while I hold matches for you to do so.”
Soon the rope was cut, the gag removed, and together they lifted the old man to his feet. Frank then picked him up and carried him out into the open air.
“You seem to have met with misfortune, father,” he said. “I sincerely hope you are not harmed much.”
“My son,” quavered the agitated monk, “it is not my body that is harmed; it is my spirit. Against no living creature in all the world would I raise my hand. Why should any one seize me and choke me in such a manner? Much less, why should any who profess to be of the holy faith do such a thing?”