The old man hoisted himself to the edge of the wagon box, and simply gaped at Dave, as if too puzzled to figure out how his strange situation had come about.
“Here’s the scissors, father,” finally reported the boy, who had hurried into the house and out of it again.
The old man went to work on Dave as tenderly as if he had been a kitten. He carefully snipped the gag cords.
“Bless me!” he said, as he noticed the big red welts across Dave’s face. “This is mighty cruel I tell you. Now then,” as he cut the ropes at hands and feet, “get up and tell us what this means.”
Dave tried to and failed. His tongue was so dry and swollen that he could not articulate. His whole body was numb and spiritless. The farmer saw his helplessness, ordered his son to let down the high tailboard of the wagon, and they gradually slid Dave to the ground and held him up.
Gentle mannered people these, Dave decided, and he was ashamed of himself for ever thinking that they were parties to the kidnapping plot of the two men who had captured him the night previous.
“Walk him a bit, Jared, softly now, softly,” the farmer said. “He’s in a mortal bad fix, circulation nigh stopped and weak as a cat. I reckon we’d better get him into the house.”
The farmer’s wife looked surprised as her husband carried Dave to a couch in the family sitting room and placed him upon it.
“Why, what’s this?” she exclaimed.
“It’s either a measly trick or attempted killing,” replied the old man indignantly. “Speak up, lad, how did you come in that plight?”