"If only my brother knew where I was," he reflected, "he would soon turn the tables on those clodhoppers."
But, as he knew, his brother was twenty miles away, on a different expedition.
John Fox was a man of expedients. In his long career as an outlaw he had more than once been "in a hole," but he had never failed by some means or other to extricate himself. This was what he decided to do at present, if it were possible.
It was not for some time that he bethought himself of a knife that he had in his pocket. If he could get it out so as to use it, he would be able to cut the ropes that bound him and escape--that is, if he were not interfered with.
He looked out of the window again, and saw Luke Robbins and the farmer walking up the road.
"They think I am safe," soliloquized Fox, "but perhaps they may find themselves mistaken."
He reflected with satisfaction that there was no one in the house but Mrs. Mason and himself. She was a timid, nervous woman, who would wilt at a look from him. Yet as matters stood he was helpless even against her.
As it was uncertain how long his two jailers would be absent, it behooved him to escape as soon as possible. There was of course a difficulty in the way, as his hands were securely tied together at the wrists, and he could not, therefore, thrust them into his pocket and obtain the knife. But possibly by rolling over he might manage to make it slip out. It seemed the only possible way to accomplish his object, so he at once set to work. Rolling over and over, he at length found himself in such a position that the knife--a large jack-knife--slipped from the gaping mouth of the pocket.
"Ha, that is the first step towards success," he cried triumphantly.
Next he must pick up the knife and open it. This was easier than the first step. His hands were tied at the wrists, but his fingers were free to work. It seemed a simple thing to open the knife, but it took him some time. At last, however, he succeeded.