"Come along where?"
"Never mind, that's our little secret."
Frank opened his mouth to yell for help, but a big hand immediately closed over it and shut off his cry. "Come, none of that!"
"Put that towel over his mouth!" said one of his captors. A towel was whipped out by one of them and in a jiffy he was effectually prevented from making any outcry, and it had been so placed that he could not see. "Now, come along, young fellow, we're not going to eat you."
Two of the men linked their arms in his, and, preceded by the third, they set out at a rapid pace toward the path that ran down along the river edge. Frank tried to hang back, but he was firmly urged forward, and, seeing the uselessness of resistance in the face of such overwhelming odds, he gave up and went along quietly, waiting a chance to escape by some stratagem.
After a walk of a few minutes, Frank's captors halted and turned toward the river. Frank felt the cold chills race up and down his spine as he stood, held firmly between the two. "What does it all mean?" he thought to himself. The man who had preceded them disappeared for a moment in the alder bushes which fringed the bank. In a moment his voice sounded from below: "The boat's here; hurry it up and let's get it finished."
Half walking and half sliding, they reached the water's edge. Without any ceremony Frank was forced into the boat, the others followed, and one of the men, after pushing off, began to row rapidly. Two or three hundred yards down stream he beached the boat, sprang out and held her, while the others, still grasping Frank, scrambled out awkwardly. The boat was pulled up a little and then, in the same order as the procession had started, it continued on what seemed to be an old road overgrown with grass. Five minutes of twisting and turning through trees and tangled shrubbery, during which time Frank, by moving his face muscles, had uncovered one eye, brought them to a house, but it was shrouded in the deepest gloom. No lights shone from its windows and no sounds of life came from within. All was dreary and desolate, and a chill struck to Frank's heart as he suddenly recognized the place. It was the Jackson house on the back road to Hamilton, and it was reported to be haunted. Some deed of blood had been done there years before and the house since that time had been vacant. After nightfall few ventured that way. Queer lights were said to have been seen about the house at night. The road was little traveled by man or beast at any hour. Through a broken gate hanging crazily by one hinge the procession passed, and up the overgrown walk to the door. Halting here, the leader fumbled in his pocket and produced a key, which he inserted in the lock of the door. There was a grinding sound as the bolt shot back.
"Here's where you stay for a few hours, young fellow," said one of his captors. "Nice comfortable shack. You'll have lots of visitors in there and you needn't be a bit lonesome."
Frank fought hard against his imprisonment. He struggled and scratched and kicked with all his might, and braced against the door jamb. But he was soon overpowered and pushed within. The door was jerked back quickly and Frank was alone in the haunted house. Turned by the key on the outside, the lock shot squeaking back into its socket. Just then the clock on the Queen's School tower boomed the hour of eight!