“The rope?” repeated Bert.
“Yes. Come nearer and you will see that I am wrapped up in a plough-line.”
Bert was profoundly astonished, but he wisely refrained from making any inquiries. His knife was out in an instant, and a few passes with the blade liberated Don, who made a feeble attempt to walk and fell forward into his brother’s arms.
“Don’t be uneasy,” said Don, who knew by the exclamation his brother uttered that he was greatly alarmed. “I’m all right, only I feel as if I had the rheumatism. I’ve been tied up there ever since nine o’clock last night.”
“Why, Don!” cried Bert. “Who put you there?”
“If I tell you, will you promise not to say a word about it?”
“No, I won’t,” replied Bert, quickly. “No one shall treat you so and then go off scot-free if I can—Why, Don, what in the world—I mean how——”
Bert had by this time assisted his brother to the door where he had a fair view of him.
“You mean that if I am your brother, I have changed into a black man during the last few hours, don’t you?” said Don, laughing heartily at the expression of astonishment on Bert’s face. “In me you behold—by the way, you don’t remember old Jordan, do you?”
“No, I do not.”