"Eh? Oh, nothin'. Thought you might ha' gone to sleep like a good little boy."
The man's harsh laugh sounded hollow and unpleasant. Hugh shuddered.
"I was asleep," he said, "but when——"
"Real unkind o' your friends to wake you up, eh?" interrupted Durgan. His hand stole behind him. With a quick turn he opened the door, and admitted some one. "Come in, Harry," he said. "The kid's here, all right. What did I tell you?"
"That so?" growled Harry Mole. "Well, we know who he is now. Somebody tipped off the officers about the run we was goin' to make to-night; and since it wasn't this kid, it must-a been one of his bunch. Shall we heave him into the stream, Joe, or leave him here?"
"Not on your life!" Durgan replied promptly. "He's caught on to too much about us while he's been here, and he can tell those ginks a lot that we don't want 'em to know. So's long as we kin get out o' here alive, we'd better take him along."
"He spoiled our plans to-night. He deserves to be knocked on the head an' thrown out to the 'gators!"
"Spoilt our plans, you bet! But he'll get his, by-and-by. Come, take him and hustle away. Cripes! hear them bullets smashin' into the wall!"
"Remember, kid," said Mole, "if you shout or let out a word, we'll stick a knife between yer slats."
From the fierce way in which Mole uttered this threat, Hugh did not doubt he would do as he said. However, he did not yield without a silent struggle, though he was soon overpowered by the two burly ruffians. Each taking him by an arm, they led him outside and dragged him over a stretch of bumpy ground, stumbling along in the semi-darkness.