“Now,” said Mort, with a cruel leer, “we’ll square up our accounts. The next time I’m having a little fun on my own account, I reckon you’ll mind your own business!”
With these words he proceeded to tie his victim firmly to a stout young pine that grew close to the edge of the bluff. They placed his face to the trunk, and clasping his hands around it, lashed them tightly together.
“I say,” interposed Dick, as he saw the cords cut into the captive’s wrists, “you needn’t pull ’em so tight! Don’t you see—you’re hurting him awfully!”
Winthrop set his lips together, and said nothing.
“Hurting him!” repeated Mort savagely. “I guess he’ll wish he wa’n’t hurt any more’n that, before I get through with him! Gimme that whip!”
“Don’t whip him!” cried Dick again. “We’ve scared him enough, now. You said you only wanted to frighten him, Mort.”
“Git out o’ the way, will you? I’m running this job, and this slim Sunday-school chap from the city has got to have a little more scarin’ yet.”
“But”—
“If you don’t want a taste yourself, you’ll keep quiet, Dick Stanwood. Phil an’ I’ll duck ye in the river, ’f you say much more!”
“All right,” said Dick, who evidently regretted his part in the matter. “If that’s all the thanks I get, I’m off!” And turning suddenly on his heel, he walked away through the woods.