Jack made short work of the dishes, and as soon as he had finished he tumbled into the lower bunk and, pulling the heavy blanket over him, he was almost immediately lost to the world and to his troubles as well.
When he awoke it was dark. For a moment he was uncertain where he was, but as memory returned he lay quiet and listened. Not a sound broke the deathlike stillness of the room.
“They must have gone out or I could at least hear them breathe,” he thought.
After waiting a few minutes longer, he crept softly from the bunk and carefully groped his way to the stove. It was stone cold.
“They must have been gone for some time,” he thought as he took from his pocket a small flashlight. “It’s funny they didn’t search me to see if I had any shooting irons,” he whispered to himself as he crossed the room to the closet where he found a small tin box filled with matches. “Guess they were too stupid to think of it,” he concluded, lighting the lamp on the table.
He next started a fire in the stove, for the room was already decidedly chilly, and as soon as it was going in good shape he sat down in front of it and started to think what his next move should be. Had the men really left for good, or were they playing some trick on him? were the questions which raced through his mind. Should he leave or stay? On the one hand he knew that he was miles from the nearest settlement or camp, and he very much doubted his ability to find his way through the woods in the darkness. He well knew what it meant to be lost in the Maine woods at that time of year. On the other hand, he shuddered at the thought of being tied up again to pass another night of agony. In fact the thought was unbearable.
He got up, and, going to the door, tried to open it, only to find that it was fastened on the outside. An examination of the windows showed that they were nailed down in such a way that it would be impossible to get them open without tools.
“Wonder if they thought I wouldn’t know enough to smash one of them if I wanted to get out,” he grinned as he went back to the stove. “I’ll wait long enough to get something to eat anyhow,” he decided, as he glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly half-past six.
In the closet he found a package of flapjack flour and several cans of condensed milk. There was a little water left in the pail, and diluting the milk he soon had a batch of batter ready for the iron, and by the time the coffee had come to a boil he had eight richly browned cakes ready.
By the time he had finished his supper he had decided on his course of action. He would smash a window and climbing out hide in a tree from which he could watch the cabin. If the men had not returned by nine o’clock he would return and spend the night there. If on the other hand he should see them coming back, he would wait until they were inside and then steal away through the woods, preferring to take his chances in the forest rather than to be tied up again. But he had waited too long already. He had selected a stick from the pile in the corner and was on the point of attacking the window, when he heard someone at the door. A log was snatched away and the two men entered, barely giving him time to throw the stick back on the pile.