Jack was not to be beaten, however. Getting to his knees, he bent far over, until his head almost touched the floor, and fell vigorously to shaking himself. At the second effort the dagger slipped out to the floor. Quickly then he got a firm hold on the end of the handle with his teeth, struggled again to a sitting position, drew his knees up as far as possible, and bending low between them, began stabbing at the handkerchief about his ankles with the point of the weapon.
At the first attempt the knife barely touched the handkerchief. He tried again, and just reached it. Throwing his head far back, to gain momentum, he lunged forward with all his strength. The keen point struck the linen squarely, there was a rip and tear—and his feet were free.
As the severed handkerchief fell from his ankles, the dagger, slipping from Jack’s teeth, clattered to the floor. But the noisy discussion still going on without prevented its being heard; and promptly Jack turned to the problem of freeing his hands.
As they were tied behind him, this promised to be far more difficult. Indeed Jack’s courage was beginning to fail him, when the method of freeing his ankles suggested a possibility. At once he essayed it. Rising to a kneeling position, he strained at his wrists for several minutes, then, bending far over, began working his hands down beneath him.
It seemed as though they would never come, and again and again he had to pause for breath. Desperately he continued, and suddenly at last they slipped, and were under him, directly below his knees.
Throwing himself over on his side, he once more grasped the dagger hilt in his teeth, and as he lay, carefully aimed the point between his legs at the cord about his wrists, and gave a quick, hard thrust. At the first blow he struck the cord fairly, but only half severed the strand. Again he lunged, and the next moment he was free.
The heated debate was still in progress in the outer room, and nearly exhausted though he was, Jack immediately scrambled to his feet and tiptoed to the window. To his joy he discovered it was made of a sliding frame, only fastened by a loosely-driven nail. It required but a few minutes’ work to remove this, and very cautiously he began sliding the window back.
Half way it went easily, without noise. Then it stuck. Carefully Jack put his shoulder to it. Suddenly, without warning, it gave, then stopped with a jar, and to his horror a broken pane shot from the frame and fell clattering to the floor.
From the other room came a shout and a rush of feet. In desperation Jack stepped back, and with a run fairly dove at the opening. His head and shoulders passed through, then he stuck. Behind him the door flew open. With a desperate wriggle he struggled through, and fell in a heap to the ground just as the negro reached the window and made a wild lunge for him. The next moment Jack was on his feet and off across the clearing like a hare.
The four lawbreakers were quickly out of the house in full chase. Presently there was the report of a pistol, and a shrill “wheeeu” just over Jack’s head. Ducking instinctively, but with grimly set lips, he rushed on. Again came the whine of a bullet, and again. With a final sprint Jack reached the cover of the woods in safety, darted to the brush-pile and recovered his camera, and on, straight through the trees for the spot at which he had hidden his wheel.