Nevertheless, as the days slipped by; and Bob’s physical strength returned in its full measure, his active and bold spirit again took the initiative.  A slow anger seized possession of him.  The native combative stubbornness of the race asserted itself, the necessity of doing something, the inability tamely to submit to imposed circumstances.  Bob’s careful analysis of the situation as a whole failed to discover any feasible plan.  Therefore he abandoned trying to plan ahead, and fell back on those always-ready and comfortable aphorisims of the adventurous—­“sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” and “one thing at a time.”  Obviously, the first thing to do was to free his arms; after that he would see what he would see.

Every evening Saleratus Bill took the candle and departed, leaving Bob to find his own way to his bunk.  This was the time to cut his bonds; if at all.  Unfortunately Bob could find nothing against which to cut them.  Saleratus Bill had carefully removed every abrasive possibility in the two rooms.  Bob very wisely relinquished the idea of passing the threshold in search of a suitable rock or piece of tin.  He had no notion of risking a bullet until something was likely to be gained by it.

Finally his cogitations brought him an idea.  Saleratus Bill was attentive enough to such of the simple creature comforts as were within his means.  Bob’s pipe had been well supplied with tobacco.  On the fourth evening Bob filled it just as his jailor was about to take away the candle for the night.

“Just a minute,” said Bob.  “Let me have a light.”

Bill set the candle on the table again, and retired the three paces which he never forgot rigidly to maintain between himself and his captive.  Bob thereupon lit his pipe and nodded his thanks.  As soon as Saleratus Bill had well departed, however, he retired to his bunk room, shutting the door carefully after him.  There, with great care, he deliberately set to work to coax into flame a small fire on the old hearth, using as fuel the rounds of a broken chair, and as ignition the glowing coal in the bowl of his pipe.  Before the hearth he had managed to hang the heavy quilt from his bunk, so that the flicker of the flames should not be visible from the outside.

The little fire caught, blazed for a few moments, and fell to a steady glow.  Bob fished out one of the chair rungs, jammed the cool end firmly in one of the open cracks between the timbers of the room, turned his back, and deliberately pressed the band around his elbows against the live coal.

A smell of burning cloth immediately filled the air.  After a moment the coal went out.  Bob replaced the charred rung in the fire, extracted another, and repeated the operation.

It was exceedingly difficult to gauge the matter accurately, as Bob soon found out to his cost.  He managed to burn more holes in his garment—­and himself—­than in the bonds.  However, he kept at it, and after a half hour’s steady and patient effort he was able to snap asunder the last strands.  He stretched his arms over his head in an ecstasy of physical freedom.