“Not a bit of it,” exclaimed Sparwick, with a harsh laugh. “I reckon I kin take the boys there alone. An’ as fur the money—why, I’m goin’ ter have a clean half, an’ mebbe more. It all depends on what sort of a drop I kin git on Raikes. Lie still, now.”
He thrust his hand into Bogle’s pockets, one by one. The prostrate villain struggled hard to prevent the search. His vain pleadings changed to bitter curses.
Sparwick was impervious to both. He went calmly on with his task. He uttered a triumphant chuckle as he drew out the longed-for vial. He quickly uncorked it, and poured the contents generously on his bandanna handkerchief.
Bogle struggled and howled, all in vain. As the deadly cloth was pressed over his nose and mouth he became quiet. His limbs relaxed, and his eyes closed. He lay like a corpse.
With a grunt of satisfaction Sparwick rose to his feet and stretched himself. Then he walked over to the sleds, which were piled at one side of the bed.
“I was justified in that thar,” he said, turning to the boys. “The mean cur hed it all fixed ter treat me the same way. You needn’t be afeared he’s dead. It’s only chloroform.”
Brick and Hamp watched Sparwick place the vial and the saturated handkerchief carefully on the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he took a knife from his pocket, and cut two pieces of rope from one of the sleds. This done, he negligently dropped the knife and returned to his victim.
He tightly bound Bogle’s legs together. Then he set to work on his arms. His back was turned toward the boys, who were sitting up watching him.
Suddenly Brick gave a start. He had discovered that the cords on his wrists were coming loose. He fumbled for an instant, and managed to pull one hand through. His arms were now free.
He held them up in front of Hamp, and at the same time made a warning gesture of silence. Then he leaned softly over, and reached the knife.