"My brothers," came thickly from Tom, as he reeled around. "What did you—you—do to them? My head—like—top! You—must—must—Oh!" And then Tom sank down on a bench, slipped to the floor, and lay beside Sam.
"He's poisoned!" shrieked Dan Baxter, and his face grew as white as a sheet.
"Shut up!" muttered Sack Todd. "The dose won't kill him."
"Reckon they are all laid out," was Gasper Pold's comment, as he peered down the hatch way. "I'll go down and make sure." And he passed down the iron ladder, pistol in hand.
"How about it?" came from the mate of the Dogstar.
"Stiff as corpses," was the brutal answer. "I tell you, that dope did the business."
"Are any of them dead?" asked Dan Baxter, hoarsely.
"I don't think so," was the careless answer. "No, they are all breathing," went on Pold.
Sack Todd came down, followed by the mate of the Dogstar, and all gazed coldly at the four youths lying on the hard floor around the machinery. Dan Baxter remained at the top of the ladder, shaking as if with the palsy.
"How long do you calculate they'll remain in this condition?" asked Todd, turning to Pold.
"Ten or twelve hours at least," was the answer.
