When, as nearly as he could judge, two hours had passed from the time of his arrival, the tall man drove up in a springless wagon which was apparently filled with food and liquor.
The load was taken into the house, the horse stabled, and then the dogs were let loose.
That they would be very disagreeable customers with whom to have any dispute could be well understood as they ran to and fro growling and snarling, and despite his resolve not to borrow trouble until he knew there was a possibility it could come, Jet could not prevent himself from speculating upon what would happen if he suddenly appeared before them.
It was nearly sunset before the door of his room was opened, and then the short man entered, bringing several slices of raw bacon, half a loaf of bread, and a bottle of water.
"I don't count on havin' you starve to death," he said, as he placed the articles on the floor; "but you won't get enough to injure your health, I reckon."
"Why don't you let me go to New York? I haven't done anything to harm you."
"That is because you haven't had much of a chance as yet, except to talk with the inspector, my boy, and we don't intend to give you one. There isn't—"
"Here, Bob! What's the use of chinnin' with that cub when the grub is ready. Come down, or I won't answer that your share will be left."
This threat had the desired effect, for Bob went out of the room very quickly, taking good care, however, to lock and bolt the door behind him.
The night came; Jet could no longer distinguish objects from the window, and the room was so dark that it was impossible to see his way around.