“A fairy story,” said the professor, contemptuously. “My boy has long since found out that there isn’t anything to it.”
“You and your boy know more about that treasure than you feel like telling,” retorted Sackett. “You’re coming with us and stay with us until you tell us what you do know.”
“I guess I’ll stay with you a long time,” said the professor, humorously. “Because I don’t know anything about it.”
“Stow the talk and come on,” growled the mate. “Want them boys to come back again?”
“Yes, we had better get moving,” agreed the leader of the gang. He walked to the desk and took out a piece of paper and a pen, which he dipped in the ink. “You write a note saying you have gone for a little exploring trip,” he directed the professor.
“I won’t write a line!” said the professor, stubbornly.
“You write quickly or I’ll punch your head!” growled the outlaw, raising his heavy fist.
Convinced that he would gain nothing by arguing with these men the professor took the pen and wrote a short note. He hesitated a moment and then signed it “Duress Scott.”
“Hey!” cried Sackett, suspiciously. “What’s that you’re putting?”
“You want me to sign my name, don’t you?” asked the teacher, blandly.