Cole answered by placing a large, black bottle and several glasses on a rickety table that occupied nearly half the cabin.
Dick filled out a glass for the prisoner, and Mr. Field, who was chilled to the marrow, drank the stuff, although it was of the vilest.
After supper Denton and the negro went outside, and when they returned Sam carried a small ladder, which he placed at an opening in the ceiling.
“Climb up, old man,” said Dick, pushing the banker toward the ladder.
Hilton Field did not resist; he was as obedient as a child now that his courage had forsaken him.
When the captive reached the garret, Sam removed the ladder.
“You know,” remarked Skip, “or, at least, I suppose Dick has told you, that this business must be kept secret.”
“This coon don’t blab when he is treated right. Mister Denton knows what I am. It wasn’t to-day or yesterday that we became acquainted.”
“You may depend upon him, Skip!” said Denton, as he took a five-dollar bill from his pocket and threw it upon the table; “Sam, go and get a couple of bottles of whisky.”
When the negro had left, the precious pair had a long conference, which ended in the adoption of a plan.