Jack fell back, his hands dropping to his sides.  Had there been but one dog, the submarine boy, with all his grit forced to the surface, might have chosen to face the brute, hoping to despatch it with a well-aimed kick.  But with two dogs, both intent on “getting” him, young Benson knew that he would stand the fabled chance of a snow-flake on a red-hot stove.

“Dat’s right, gemmun, yo’ keep cool,” observed the mulatto, mockingly.

“You’ve decoyed me—­trapped me here with a mess of lies,” flung back Captain Jack, angrily.  “What’s your game?”

“Dis am a free lodgin’ house—­ho, ho, ho!” chuckled the late guide.  “Ah’s gwine gib yo’ er place to sleep fo’ de night.  Yo’ sho’ly must feel ’bleeged to me—­ho, ho, ho!”

“You lied to me about Sam Truax!”

“Yeah!  Ah done foun’ dat was de name ob a gemmun in yo’ pahty dat wasn’t wid yo’.  Truax do as well as any odder name—­yah!  Now, Ah’s gwine leab yo’ heah t’ git a sleep.  Ah’ll toss down some blankets.  ’Pose yo’se’f and gwine ter sleep, honey.  Don’t try to clim’ up outer dat, or dem dawgs’ll sho’ly jump down at yo’.  Keep quiet, an’ go ter sleep, an’ de dawgs done lay heah an’ jest watch.  But don’ try nuffin’ funny, or de dawgs’ll sho’ly bring trubble to yo’.  Dem is trained dawgs—­train’ fo’ dis business ob mine.  Ho, ho, ho!”

Mulatto and light vanished, but enraged, baffled, helpless Captain Jack could hear the two dogs moving about ere they settled down on the shelf of flooring overhead.

“No matter how much of a liar that rascal is, he didn’t lie to me about the dogs,” reflected Jack, his temper cooling, but his bitterness increasing.  “They’re fighting dogs, and one wrong move would bring them bounding down here on me—­the two together.  Ugh-gh!”

After a few moments the mulatto reappeared with a light and tossed down three heavy blankets.

“Now, Ah’s gwine leave yo’ fo’ de night,” clacked the late guide.  “Ef yo’ done feel lonesome, yo’ jes’ whistle de dawgs down to yo’.  Dey’ll come!”

While the light was still there Benson, in raging silence, gathered the blankets and arranged them.

“Roll up one fo’ a pillow, under yo’ haid,” grinned the mulatto.  “Dat’s all right, sah.  Now, good night, Marse Benson.  Ef yo’ feel lonesome, Marse Benson, jes’ whistle fo’ de dawgs. Dey’ll come!”

The light vanished while the mulatto’s sinister words were ringing in the boy’s ears.  Would the dogs jump down?  Jack knew they would, at the first false move or sound on his part.  He huddled softly, stealthily, on the blankets, there in the darkness.

As he lay there, thinking, Benson’s sense of admiration gradually got to the surface.

“Well, of all the slick man-traps!” he gasped.  “I never heard of anything more clever.  Nor was there ever a bigger idiot than I, to walk stupidly into this same trap!  What’s the game, I wonder?  Robbery, it must be.  And I have a watch, some other little valuables and nearly a hundred and fifty dollars in money on me.  Oh, I’m the sleek, fat goose for plucking!”