“We can’t all pile into this sleigh—the horses can scarcely draw it as it is. That box is a weight, and no mistake.”
“I say, sir,” said Dan to the sheriff, again consulting the compass. “I know we can get to John Bromley’s dock, all right. It is a good distance, but as long as we know which way to head, we’re bound to bring up there if we keep near enough the shore.”
“Sensibly said, boy,” agreed Parker.
“I’ll walk ahead of the horses. You can’t get them out of a walk, anyway,” pursued Dan. “You folks get into the sleigh again, and let those fellows walk behind. Billy and Dummy will see that they don’t fall out of the procession.”
The sheriff made one amendment to this. He refused to ride in the sleigh, but made Mr. Parker and the girls snuggle down under the robes. He declared he preferred to keep moving, anyway, and he led the colts himself.
They acted better with him at their heads, for the poor beasts were frightened and pretty well winded. Thus the procession started—and there were no stragglers. The dummy and Billy Speedwell saw to that.
They were all tired and half-blinded by the snow and wind; but the work kept their blood in circulation. Those afoot were better off than Mr. Parker and the girls.
The three prisoners suffered a good deal before long. It is not easy to walk at any time with one’s hands tied behind one’s back; but to wade through knee-deep snowdrifts under those conditions is very hard indeed.
The cords around their wrists stopped the circulation, too; and the men were in danger of suffering frost-bitten hands. Tom Davis, the ex-convict and the ugliest man in the trio, was the quickest to suffer and make his suffering known.
Like every other bully, he was a coward. He had invented the way to torture Dummy when they desired to know where the hidden box lay, and he had exulted in the lad’s pain. But he could not have held out against the scorching for a minute.