n. Gus, also crouching, went back quickly.

The boy felt sure that these fellows were armed and that they would
remain fixed for a very considerable time--all of them well out of sight
of the building. Cautiously at first, then almost running, Gus followed
the path right up to the door of what was really a stout log cabin, the
one window barred with heavy oaken slats, recently nailed on, and the
door padlocked. Gus went straight to the window, thrust aside a bit of
bagging that served for a curtain and peered within. Speaking hardly
above a whisper, he said:

"Hello, in here! Who are you? Is it Tony Sabaste?"

CHAPTER XXIV

THE PRISONER

"Well, what do you want? Who are you?"

Gus felt his heart almost leap in his bosom. The voice may have been a
little huskier, with an accent of suffering and despair, but it was
recognizable.

"Keep very quiet, Tony. I'm not supposed to be here, but out yonder,
guarding the path. Paid to do it, you understand? But lie low until
to-morrow. Then----"

"But tell me; I seem--I--who can you be? Oh, what----?"

"Oh, you don't know me, sure enough. I'm Gus, Tony--Gus Grier. Bill
Brown and I are down here to get you. We--, but that must keep. Lie low,
old chap. I've got to get away now and go awfully careful, but it'll be
all right----"

"Oh, Gus! My friend Gus! You here and for me? I believed the world--but
no matter now. Oh, my good friend Gus, you will not never give up? You
will--oh, my friend----"

"Go slow, Tony, not so loud! Do you think we would come this far and
then go back on you? I must get away now--right off. Lie low."

Gus felt an almost irresistible desire to break open the window or the
door at once and get his friend out. Then, if need be, fight their way
to safety, but common sense told him that the certain noise of doing
such a thing would be heard and perhaps his effort defeated, with great
danger to himself, and Tony, too. If there had been but one guard or
even two--but three were too great odds.

Back he went to his position, and there he watched for the rest of the
day, elated with his discovery of Tony, saddened by the delay, grinning
at the thought of the Malatesta and their confederate compelled to
watch, almost motionless, for the supposed prowlers.

At last darkness threatened. Those small banditti, the mosquitoes, as
bloody-minded as the Malatesta, began to sing and to stab. The