easure than he had supposed.

"Jest imagine you've been dropped through that winder an' landed on the
floor. You've got to go f'm there to the front an' unbolt the door. We
can handle the lock all right but they got old fashioned bolts inside.
So just wait aroun' an' figure how you'd git acrost the room without
knockin' nothink over, an' look particular at the fastenings on that
front door so you'll--"

"Stop right there," interrupted Glen. "I won't do anything of the kind."

"What's the matter of you, backin' out thaterway?" exclaimed Mr.
Jervice. "Ain't I explained to you that the bank's got our bullion."

"I'm not that green," retorted Glen. "You want to rob the bank. I'm
through with you."

"Hold on, boy!" The strong hand of the big leader closed over his
shoulder. "Not yet you ain't. We can't let you go off thinkin' that way
about us."

Glen wriggled around until he could look into the face of the man who
held him. His spirits dropped. It was no weak, trifling face such as J.
Jervice exhibited. A hard, rough look--a cruel, remorseless look--a
mean, ugly look--all these things he read in that face.

"Mebbe ye'll know me when ye see me agen," said the man.

Glen made no reply.

"I ain't figurin' on you seein' much more o' me, though, nor any of us.
D'ye know what I'm goin' to do with you?"

"Send me back to the reform school?" guessed Glen, wishing from the
bottom of his heart that he might get off so easily.

The man laughed as if at an excellent joke.

"You're funny, boy--positive funny, you are. Sendin' you to the
penitentiary would be easy along o' what I'm goin' to do to you."

"I've never hurt you," cried Glen. "Let me go."

"It ain't safe, boy. They's jest one way you c'n make it safe. Come in
along of us an' do what we do. You wouldn't be a reform school runaway
if you hadn't never been up to nothink. This'll be easy for you."

It was a temptation that would have tried boys of firmer principle than
Glen. This man might do something awful to him if he resisted. He was on
the point of yielding--and then came the vision of Matt Burton, white
and unconscious, and the recollection of his agony as he thought that he
had murdered Matt and lost his first chance to walk straight. Was it
better to choose one evil than another?

"Do what you want to," he said bravely, to the big man. "I'm going to be
a true scout, if you--if you kill me for it."

There was murder in the man's appearance, evidently en