appetite, and he ate
heartily.

When the meal was over, the men prepared for bed. They made Brick lie
down between them, and his left wrist was fastened to Bogle's right by a
pair of slender, steel bracelets.

Brick was too sleepy to mind this indignity. From the moment his head
touched the pine boughs, he knew nothing until he woke, to find the
light of day shining through the cabin's one window.

The fire was roaring, and the table was set. Raikes was frying bacon
and potatoes, and Bogle sat near by, smoking a pipe.

"Get up, youngster," he called out, when he saw that Brick was awake.
"How do you feel this morning?"

"Pretty good," answered Brick.

He was puzzled to account for the ruffian's affable manner.

Raikes now announced that breakfast was ready. He pulled a bench to the
table, and the three sat down. Bogle was the last to finish. He rose and
opened the door.

"Come here, youngster," he said.

Brick obeyed. From the threshold the prospect was dreary and dismal. No
snow was falling, but it lay deep on the bit of clearing. Overhead was
the murky, gray sky; in front the tangled thickets of the marsh.

"I want to tell you where you are," resumed Bogle. "This cabin is in the
biggest and loneliest swamp in the State of Maine. Raikes and I built it
two years ago. No one ever comes near the locality. The swamp is
regarded as inaccessible. Your friends would not find you, if they
searched for ten years. Even if you escaped, you could never get put of
the swamp. You would lose yourself, and travel around in a circle."

Brick did not doubt the truth of this. A lump rose in his throat as he
turned away from the door. He could scarcely repress the tears. Raikes
was just putting away the last of the dishes. He glanced meaningly at
Bogle. The latter opened the cupboard, and brought out a bottle of ink,
a pen, some sheets of paper, a pack of envelopes, and arranged these
things on the table.

Brick wondered what was coming next. He felt more curiosity than fear.
He did not have long to wait.

Bogle drew a packet of letters from his pocket and held them up. They
bore foreign stamps and postmarks.

"Do you recognize these?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Brick, in an aggressive tone. "You stole them out of my
coat on the night of the tenth of December."

His face flushed with anger as he remembered all that happened on that
occasion.

"No impudence," growled Bogle. "I won't have it. I'm showing you these
lett