preached Bub. “I could make it if I had your chance. Even Abner Whitten could make it. A cripple could make it! Get that chunk of iron!”
With a sobbing moan Stanley threw himself madly forward, but instead of trying with his hands so shifted his position as to bring his face all but against it.
“NOW!” yelled Bub. “Get it!”
And with a final effort Stanley stretched his neck another fraction of an inch and worried the iron within reach with his lips. Then he went limp, exhausted.
But Bub was a hard taskmaster and he now urged, “Want them to return and kill us? Get busy with that iron.”
“I’d like to work for you by the week,” choked Stanley, fumbling the piece of metal between his fingers and assailing the rope.
“Not that rope!” warned Bub. “What are you wasting your time on that one for?”
“Who’s doing this?” muttered Stanley, increasing his efforts. “I’m tied to the tree, I tell you. I can’t come to you till I’m free.”
“Forgive me, Stanley. But rush!” whimpered Bub, now on the verge of hysteria as he really believed they stood a chance of escaping.
