CHAPTER VIII

A SWIFT STROKE FOR HONOR

For the space of a few moments Dan Jaggers stared at the money clutched in his hands in a way that betrayed the extent of its fascinating hold upon his mind.

Then he glanced down at his unconscious uncle.

“Ugh!” he grunted, giving that prostrate form a slight but contemptuous kick.  “If I hadn’t done something like this you would.  Oh, ye-eh, there’s honor among thieves, but it’s no good trusting to that honor.  Every man for himself, in the woods!”

One more gloating look the shaggy young bully took at all that money, before thrusting it deep down in a pocket and pinning the opening securely.

“Don’t ye wish ye was me, with all this money to have a good time on?” he demanded, jeeringly, of Jack Benson.  “But maybe ye’ve framed up some kind of a yarn that yer boss, Farnum, will be willin’ to believe.  If ye hain’t, then mebbe ye’d better never git close to him again.”

Dan Jaggers again turned his attention to his overcome uncle, kneeling beside the ex-foreman and watching his face closely.

And then a strange thing happened, or so it would have seemed, had Dan Jaggers possessed eyes in the back of his head.  For Jack Benson likewise his chum had striven many times through the night to free their wrists of the cords that bound them.  Jack was the first to succeed, at a cost of hours of effort and thinking.  He wriggled one hand out from under the knots just as Dan turned for that last look at the prostrate man.

How fearfully numbed Jack Benson’s wrists were, after that long spell of being tied up.  Yet the boy knew that he must quickly restore circulation there and get his hands ready for use before it was all too late.

It must be one swift, decisive, conquering stroke for honor’s sake.

Jack’s trembling right hand went into one of his trousers pockets.  He found his clasp-knife, yanked it out, opened one of the blades, and Hal Hastings, who had been watching every move with breathless interest, now rolled noiselessly so that his chum could reach the rope that held him captive.

In another twinkling Hal was free.  Just then, Jaggers, fancying he heard some noise in their direction, turned slowly.  By the time Jaggers had them within his range of vision each boy was lying as before, his hands behind his back.

With a heartless chuckle, Dan turned back for one last look at his uncle.  Jack rose, almost fearing to breathe.  Hal started to follow suit.  There was some swift stealthy toe-work.  Just as Dan Jaggers turned more sharply Jack Benson hurled himself through the air, catching and clutching at his enemy’s neck.  Both rolled over together, Dan, with his greater strength, fighting like a panther and bear in one.

It was Hal Hastings’s chance.  As he darted forward he espied a serviceable-looking stick on the ground.  He snatched it up with a single breathless swoop, then poised himself over the struggling fighters, stick uplifted.