“Certainly. Of course our disappearance will worry him quite a bit. He’ll probably decide that we slipped down the dining-room flue, when he finds out that it connects with the main chimney. But his line is absolute denial, and of course, he’ll have no idea that we overheard his talk in the library, or that we’re planning a raid on Mizzentop.”
“You’re right, I think. So here’s hoping the old boy takes his hop. Now we can go ahead for the Chief—”
He stopped short. The piercing shriek of a soul in mortal anguish rent the night. By common impulse Sanborn and Bill dashed for the darkened lodge.
Chapter XVII
MIZZENTOP
Again that horrid shriek. This time there was no mistake from whence it came. Half breathless from their sprint, Bill and the detective reached the lodge and looked about for a means of entrance.
“Somebody,” whispered the secret service man, “is torturing Osceola!”
“Sounds like it, all right,” panted Bill, “but I’d have thought you could cut that Seminole into little pieces and never get a peep out of him! They must be monsters—There’s a light—window in the rear—come on!”
Bill in the lead, they dashed round the house, then stopped short. Through the kitchen screen door they caught a glimpse of a stranger lying on the floor, and Osceola’s figure bending over him. Careful as had been their movements, Osceola’s keen ears detected them, for he reached up quickly and switched off the hanging bulb.
“Speak or I’ll fire!” His order came like a shot.
Bill laughed shakily. “It’s only me, you wild Seminole—me and a pal of ours—we’ve come to rescue you from your torturers—and by gosh!—here we find you, in reverse! What’s the idea, boy?”