At a word from Pierre, Tiny swung Jack again to his shoulder and they resumed their march. Just as day was breaking they stopped and ate a cold breakfast of bread and jerked meat. Pierre offered the boy a share but his head still ached and a slight sickness at his stomach made the thought of food repugnant and he refused. The Frenchman did not urge it on him and after a short stop they were on their way again, Tiny carrying Jack as before. The man’s strength and endurance seemed limitless, but after they had gone a short distance Jack, weary of being jounced about, declared that he thought he was now strong enough to walk.
With a grunt of approval the giant swung him to the ground and told him to walk in front of him. The pain in his head had nearly ceased and, although he still felt a bit sick at the stomach, the change from the jolting was a relief.
As often as he dared he reached out a hand and broke off a small branch as he passed beneath a tree. That Bob would endeavor to find him he had not the slightest doubt and he knew that if he succeeded in getting on their trail the broken twigs would serve to guide him. But after he had repeated the process several times he was forced to give it up. As he was reaching up to grasp a branch just above his head a slap on the side of his head sent him reeling into the trunk of the tree.
“You try dat one time more an’ mebby I keel you,” the giant hissed as he regained his balance.
Jack’s blood boiled at the blow but he knew that it would be the height of folly to endeavor to retaliate. So he made no reply but he broke off no more twigs.
Jack was about played out when shortly before noon they reached the top of a mountain and he was surprised to see a log cabin built on the highest point.
Pierre threw open the door and motioned for Jack to enter. There was but little in the way of furniture in the single room of the cabin. An old rusty stove, a rough table in the center of the room, four or five more or less broken chairs and three bunks built against one side of the room about completed the inventory.
“Better see if he’s got a gun on him, Pierre,” suggested the third member of the trio, a small slim man, evidently an American, who, up to now, had taken no part in their conversation.
“Dat bon idea,” the Frenchman agreed and proceeded to put it into execution.
He gave a grunt of satisfaction as he pulled the automatic from the boy’s pocket and Jack’s heart sank for he had determined to take a stand against them at the first opportunity and he realized that without the gun his chance of getting away was slight indeed unless he had help.