Usually the woodshed was dark, but now a lantern had been hung on a nail to illuminate the place. There were two doors, one connecting with the bungalow proper, and the other leading into the backyard of the place. There was also a small window, over which in times past several stout wooden bars had been nailed to keep out prowling wild animals.
"Think I'll run away, eh?" remarked Link Merwell, as he sat down on the couch which had been placed in the woodshed.
"You'll not get the chance," returned Phil, who had armed himself with one of the double-barreled shotguns. "If you try to get away, Link, you'll get a dose of shot in you, just as sure as fate."
"Humph! I don't think I'll want to run away," grumbled the prisoner. "There is no place to run to in this forsaken section of the country. What you folks can find here to make it pleasant is a mystery to me."
The door leading to the outside had been closed and bolted. The other door leading to the bungalow proper was left open for ventilation, and Phil sat on a low stool beside it, with the shotgun across his knees.
"Are you quite sure you can manage him, Phil?" questioned Mr. Wadsworth, as he came to the doorway after the others in both bungalows had retired.
"Yes, I can manage him easily enough," returned the shipowner's son. "I've got this, you see," and he tapped the shotgun suggestively.
"Well, don't have any shooting unless it becomes absolutely necessary," answered the jewelry manufacturer; and then he, too, retired.
For a short while Link Merwell lay down on the couch and turned over as if to go to sleep. But he was restless, and presently, when all was quiet, he turned over again and sat up.
"What are you going to do with me when you get me to Carpen Falls?" he questioned.