"Up, boys!" cried Peter, never budging. "Ludwig! Lambert! Thunder! Are you all dead?"
Dead! not they. Van Mounen and Ben were on their feet in an instant.
"Hey? What now?" they shouted.
"I've got a robber here," said Peter, coolly. "(Lie still, you scoundrel, or I'll slice your head off!) Now, boys, cut out your bed cord—plenty of time—he's a dead man if he stirs."
Peter felt that he weighed a thousand pounds. So he did, with that knife in his hand.
The man growled and swore, but dared not move.
Ludwig was up, by this time. He had a great jack-knife, the pride of his heart, in his breeches pocket. It could do good service now. They bared the bedstead in a moment. It was laced backward and forward with a rope.
"I'll cut it," cried Ludwig, sawing away at the knot; "hold him tight, Pete!"
"Never fear!" answered the captain, giving the robber a warning prick.
The boys were soon pulling at the rope like good fellows. It was out at last—a long, stout piece.