“He wants to talk, dad,” said the girl. “Why not let him? If any one comes you can prevent him from calling out.”
“You’ve got too much heart, girl, for this kind of work,” returned Dimmock. Nevertheless, he fumbled with the knots at the back of Matt’s head, and removed the handkerchief.
[CHAPTER VII.
THE JOURNEY’S END.]
Matt inhaled deep breaths of the pine-scented air. The ozone held tonic properties and freshened him wonderfully.
“It’s been a long time since I had breakfast, Mr. Dimmock,” were his first words.
“You’ve skipped dinner,” returned Dimmock, evidently pleased to note that the prisoner was taking recent events in such a matter-of-fact way, “but you’ll have a fine supper to make up for it. In less than an hour from now we’ll be where we’re going.”
Sanders cranked up, climbed into his seat, and the car moved on through the forest aisle, the searchlights boring bright holes in the dark.
“Where is the journey’s end to be?” inquired Matt.
“Somewhere between Loon Lake and Stoughton. That’s all you’re to know.”