Slowly and painfully, with a dull ache in his head, and an uncertain look in his eyes, Jack returned to his senses. A thin stream of blood trickled down his neck, and putting up his hand he felt a large lump under the hair.

"It must have been Mosey who struck me," was his first thought as he gathered his scattered faculties together. "Well, thank G.o.d, he didn't kill me."

It was some time before he felt any desire to rise, and when he finally did so, he found himself weaker than he had antic.i.p.ated.

"The coward!" was the young machinist's comment. "To strike me unawares. I knew he disliked me, but hasn't he wronged me enough already?"

Jack did not know--nor, indeed, could he have understood--the bitter hatred the Irishman bore him.

The only pride of Andy Mosey's life was his bull pup and his son Mike, and to have the young machinist occupying a position he thought his son should have, had always been more than this hot-tempered fellow was inclined to bear.

The place in which Jack found himself was totally dark, whether because it had no windows, or because it was night, he could not tell.

He groped around, and seeing a ray of light coming up from beneath, applied his eye to what proved to be a knot-hole in the floor.

He was surprised to find the river flowing directly below, and knew at once that he was in the lowest part of the old mill, opposite the ancient wheel.

"They must have carried me here," he said to himself. "I wonder how long ago?"

He felt his way along the walls, and at last reached the door. He was on the point of lifting the latch, when it was thrown open, and by the the rays of a lantern that at first dazzled him, he saw himself confronted by Dennis Corrigan and Andy Mosey.

"So ye'v c.u.m to yer sinses at last, have ye?" was Mosey's greeting, as he set down the lantern. "Ye wint down moighty easy, so ye did."

"I'd like to know what right you have to treat me in this shameful manner," demanded Jack, indignantly.

"Never moind," returned the Irishman; "it will teach ye a lesson not to tell lying stories about me."

"I haven't said anything but what I believe to be true," replied Jack, pointedly.

"Sure, now, is that raly so? Well, ye can suffer for thinking wrong,"

continued Mosey. "Oi niver----"

"Oh, stop your everlasting jaw!" broke in Corrigan, who was more practical in his way than his brother-in-law. "Never mind what you've done, and what you haven't done. The question is, what are we to do with the boy, now he's here?"

The Irishman scratched his head.

"It won't do to let him go," he said.

"Suppose we search his pockets," suggested Corrigan.

Jack uttered an exclamation.

"What do you mean?" he demanded; "you wouldn't dare?"

Corrigan laughed. The young machinist did not yet know that this man was at heart a thorough villain.

"Wait and see," he remarked, coolly. "Put your back to the door, Andy, and don't let him escape."

Corrigan was a heavily built and powerful man, and in his present condition Jack knew that he was no match for such an opponent.

"What do you want?" asked the young machinist.

"Want to see what you have with you. Come, show up."

Jack's head still ached from the rough treatment it had received. He did not wish to court another such blow, and so did as demanded.

A knife, ten cents, the five-dollar bill farmer Farrell had given him, and a copy of his agreement with Mr. Benton were all the articles of value that he carried.

"Here's something for you, Andy," observed Corrigan, tossing over the ten-cent piece. "The price of a drink."

Corrigan quietly slipped the five-dollar bill into his own clothes.

Then opening the agreement, he held it near the lantern and read it carefully. It seemed to interest him greatly, and muttering something to himself, he shoved it into the inside pocket of his coat.

"Do you intend to rob me outright?" exclaimed Jack, whose blood boiled at such treatment.

"If that's what you call it, I suppose we do," was Corrigan's reply.

The young machinist was now becoming more used to the situation, and he determined to submit no longer. He noticed that Mosey had unconsciously moved to one side, and watching his chance, he sprang for the door.

But Corrigan was too quick for him, and with a reach of his long arm he caught the young machinist by the collar, and held him until Mosey had again reached the door.

Jack's grit was up and he wrestled with all his strength. He caught his antagonist by the waist, and literally threw him to the floor.

"Hit him. Andy, hit him!" screamed Corrigan, trying to regain his feet.

Mosey approached Jack with the same stick he had used in the first encounter. The young machinist caught the blow upon the left arm, and retaliated by landing one square from the shoulder on the Irishman's nasal organ. He did not believe in pugilism, but knew something of the art of self-defense; and used his knowledge to good advantage.

He followed up the first blow by another, and had just gained the door for the second time, when Corrigan, with a vile exclamation, seized the heavy bra.s.s lantern, and swinging it over his head, brought it down with all force upon Jack's neck.

The blow half stunned the young machinist, and before he could recover he was on his back, with Corrigan on top of him.

"Phat shall we do?" asked Mosey in bewilderment. Jack's unexpected attack had surprised and dismayed him.

"Get that rope upstairs," gasped Corrigan, who was well-nigh winded; "we'll bind him so tight that he won't give us any more trouble."

The Irishman disappeared for a few moments.

When he returned he held a stout cord in his hand, with which the two bound the young machinist securely, hands and feet.

"We'll leave him here for the present," said Corrigan, when they had finished their work. "Come on," and taking up the lantern, which in spite of its rough usage still remained lit, he led the way up stairs followed by Mosey.

"Well, I'm in a pretty fix, and no mistake," was Jack's mental decision when alone. "So far, my exertions to gain freedom haven't amounted to anything. But if they think that I'm going to give up already, they are mistaken."

He tugged at the cords, and by a strong effort managed, though not without painful squeezing, to pull his feet free.

His hands, however, were placed altogether too closely to allow of a similar proceeding, and he endeavored to find some means of cutting the fastening.

He remembered that the latch of the door was a rusty one, and rough on its lower side. Walking over to this, he began to rub the cord along the edge in the hope of severing it, but the improvised saw--if it might be called such--was not a handy tool, and half an hour pa.s.sed before he made any material progress.