Entering the barn, Yates forced the constable up against the square oaken post which was part of the framework of the building, and which formed one side of the perpendicular ladder that led to the top of the hay mow.
“Now, Stoliker,” he, said solemnly, “you realize, of course, that I don’t want to hurt you yet you also realize that I must hurt you if you attempt any tricks. I can’t take any risks, please remember that; and recollect that, by the time you are free again, I shall be in the State of New York. So don’t compel me to smash your head against this post.” He, with some trouble, unlocked the clasp on his own wrist; then, drawing Stoliker’s right hand around the post, he snapped the same clasp on the constable’s hitherto free wrist. The unfortunate man, with his cheek against the oak, was in the comical position of lovingly embracing the post.
“I’ll get you a chair from the kitchen, so that you will be more comfortable—unless, like Samson, you can pull down the supports. Then I must bid you good-by.”
Yates went out to the girl, who was waiting for him.
“I want to borrow a kitchen chair, Kitty,” he said, “so that poor Stoliker will get a rest.”
They walked toward the house. Yates noticed that the firing had ceased, except a desultory shot here and there across the country.
“I shall have to retreat over the border as quickly as I can,” he continued. “This country is getting too hot for me.”
“You are much safer here,” said the girl, with downcast eyes. “A man has brought the news that the United States gunboats are sailing up and down the river, making prisoners of all who attempt to cross from this side.”
“You don’t say! Well, I might have known that. Then what am I to do with Stoliker? I can’t keep him tied up here. Yet the moment he gets loose I’m done for.”
“Perhaps mother could persuade him not to do anything more. Shall I go for her?”