But, struggle as he would, the thongs which bound him, rendering him powerless to aid the girl he loved, would not give way.

Thus a fortnight passed, and Halloran was beside himself with wonder to find each morning that Lester was still alive and that he had not gone mad.

But Lester Armstrong’s guardian angel had not quite forgotten him; Heaven had not intended that he should die by thirst and starvation in that isolated cabin, and served him in a strange, unlooked-for way.

He soon discovered that a family of squirrels had made a home beneath a piece of flooring within easy reach of where he lay, and upon forcing up the piece of rotten plank he found to his intense joy an almost endless supply of nuts, and close beside their burrow a running stream of clear, cool, fresh, bubbling spring water.

In an instant he had slaked his thirst and laved his burning brow.

From that hour he felt sure that Heaven intended him to escape from his foes.  He took good care, however, to conceal his wonderful discovery from Halloran’s keen, sharp eyes when he looked in each day.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A fiendish act.

    “Like some lone bird
    Without a mate,
    My lonely heart is desolate;
    I look around
    And cannot trace, a friendly
      smile, a welcome face. 
    Even in crowds
    I’m still alone, because I
      cannot love but one.”

Thus a fortnight passed, and under the rigid diet of the strengthening, nutritious nuts and clear spring water Lester rapidly gained strength.

He only waited a fitting opportunity to make a dash for liberty.

Halloran was well armed; he realized that fact, and that he would shoot him down like a dog ere he would suffer him to escape the fate that had been laid out for him.

Therefore his only hope was to get away by strategy.  He laid several plans, but each time they were frustrated by some unexpected act of Halloran’s.

Meanwhile the latter was pondering over his case, considerably mystified.

“Confound the fellow! he does not seem to grow either pale or emaciated,” he muttered.  “I could almost say that starving seems to agree with him.  I am quite tempted to give him his quietus and end this vigil.  Remaining in this solitary hut does not quite come up to my liking.  I wonder what Kendale is doing.  He promised to let me know how he got on.

“I have not heard from him for nearly a week now.  Perhaps they made the discovery that he was not the real Lester Armstrong, and have placed him in limbo; but it strikes me that in such a predicament he would hasten to communicate with me, apprising me of the fact.

“Then, again,” he ruminated, “Kendale is thoroughly selfish to the backbone, and if he has successfully hoodwinked these people and is living off the fat of the land and rolling in money, as it were, ten chances to one he has quite forgotten my very existence.