Not for nothing had Miss Phyllis Alden seen Miss Jenny Ann rescued from a wild bull by means of a lasso.  Not for nothing had she spent hours of her time, and one of her few dollars, in acquiring the skill necessary to the swinging of a lariat.  She now had her enemy held fast.  At the same instant that Phil caught her prey, before he had time to jerk away, she knotted her rope about the cleat that held the anchor.

On the shore, the youth tugged and strained.  He ran back into the water.  It struck him that he might climb aboard the boat again.  But his arms were caught down at his sides.  It was impossible for him to get at a knife to cut the ropes.  He could ease off the noose with his teeth, but it would be a slow process of escape.

As soon as Phil had her victim fast, she rushed back into the sitting room.  She found Eleanor on her feet, engaged in untying the handkerchief from Lillian’s face and cutting the twine that was bound about her swollen wrists.

“I’ve caught the enemy and he is ours,” declared Phil cheerfully.  “I have him tied to the side of the boat.  I can’t say how long it may take him to get away, and he may climb back on the boat and try to eat us up.  But, at least, we can get ready for him.”

The robber was doggedly working at the rope that bound him.  “I am going to get back at you,” he yelled savagely.

“Oh, why doesn’t some one come?” cried Eleanor.  “I am so afraid he’ll get away.”

There was a cheerful whistle at the top of the embankment.  It turned to one of horrified amazement as the artist, Theodore Brown, took in the situation.

“What has happened?” he called out as he ran down the hill, swinging a small stick in his hand.  “I heard your screams away over in the fields.  What have you got there?”

Phil told the story, “What shall we do with our prisoner, Mr. Brown?  We can’t be bothered with him.  We must get ready for our tea party,” she concluded.

“I don’t know what you wish to do with the young rascal,” rejoined Mr. Brown, “but I know very well what I intend to do.”  The artist’s face was set and stern.  His eyes gleamed with righteous anger.  Then he began calmly rolling up his sleeves.  He went forward to the prisoner.  “I am going to give you a taste of this,” he declared, swinging his stick through the air.  It hit Phil’s captive with a swish, once, twice, three times.  Mr. Brown was just warming up to his work.

“Leave me alone,” the fellow howled.  “Aren’t you a coward to hit me when I can’t get at you!”

“You were not troubled about being a coward when you tried to terrorize three girls and got pretty badly left,” Mr. Brown answered coolly, giving the youth another cut.

The bully groaned.  The girls could not endure it.  If the lad had taken his medicine like a man they might have borne the sight of his punishment.  But there is nothing more sickening than the fear of a coward.