PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.
The spot was fearfully lonely. Roy realized this to the full. Brave as the lad was, he felt suddenly chilled and creepy. Besides, the utter mystery that enveloped the affair was gruelling to the mind.
"Now be still," pleaded the late guide, as Roy, full of fight, jumped to his feet and flung off the detaining hold which had been laid on him.
"Yep. We don't want to hurt you," chimed in another voice, the voice of the powerful, stockily-built man who had thrown him, "be reasonable and quiet now, and you'll come to no harm. If not——" he drew a pistol and presented it at the boy's head.
The hint was rough but effectual. Roy saw that it would be mere folly to attempt resistance.
"What's the meaning of this rough behavior?" he asked in a steady voice, mentally resigning himself to the inevitable.
"You just come with us for a little while," said the gruff-voiced one. "Don't worry; we ain't goin' ter harm you. You'll git loose agin after a while. Don't worry about that."
This assurance, though mysterious, was more or less comforting. But Roy resented the utter mystery of the affair.
"But what's it all for?" he protested. "Is Mortlake at the back of it; or—"
"Now, you come along, young feller," said a gruff voice, "don't axe no questions and you won't git told no lies, see?"