t will be necessary. The cub
will soon understand that his safety depends entirely on doing as he is
told."

"Say," muttered Tom thickly. He stirred, opened his eyes, then sat up,
looking dazed.

"Don't move or talk too much," advised the man with the shotgun. As he
spoke, he moved the muzzle close to Reade's face.

"Hello!" muttered Tom, blinking rather hard.

"Hello yourself. That's talking enough for you to do," snapped the
bully.

"Was that the thing you hit me over the head with at the finish?"
inquired the young engineer curiously.

"Careful! You're expected to think--not talk," leered his captor. "If
ye want something to think about ye can remember that I have fingers on
both triggers of this gun."

"I can see that much," Tom assented. "Why do you think that it's
necessary to keep that thing pointed at me? Have you got me in a place
where you feel that facilities for escaping are too great?"

The word "facilities" appeared too big for the mind of the bully to
grasp.

"I don't know what ye're talkin' about," he grumbled.

"Neither do I," Tom admitted cheerily. "My friend, I'm not going to
irritate you by pretending that I know more than you do. In fact, I know
less, for I have no idea what is about to happen to me here, and that's
something that you do know."

"No; I don't," glared his captor, "and I don't care what is going to
happen to you."

Back of the fringe between light and darkness steps were heard on the
cellar stairs. Then someone moved steadily forward until he came into
the light.

"Hello, Jim!" Tom called good-humoredly.

"Don't try to be too familiar with your betters, young man!" came the
stern reply.

"Oh, a thousand pardons, Mr. Duff," Tom amended hastily. "I didn't
intend to insult your dignity. Indeed, I am only too glad to find you
resolved to be dignified."

"If you try to get fresh with me," growled the gambler, "I'll knock your
head off."

"Call it a slap on the wrist, and let it go at that," urged Tom. "I'm
very nervous to-night, and a blow on the head might make me worse."

"Nothing could make you worse," growled, Duff, turning on his heel, "and
only death could improve you."

"Then I'm distinctly opposed to the up-lift," grinned Tom, but Duff
had disappeared into a darker part of the cellar and the young engineer
could not tell whether or not his shaft had reached its mark.

"Ye wouldn't be so fresh if ye had a good idea of what ye're up against
to-night," war