fellow at the cottage, but now it was
different, and, with a twist of his wrists, he withdrew first one hand
and then the other.

With his hands free, it was an easy matter to untie his feet. This
done, he arose and tiptoed his way to the door. He opened the barrier
with caution, and peered out.

The sight that met his gaze was not a reassuring one. The
counterfeiters sat on all sides of the room, and each had a pistol
where it could be gotten at with ease.

"It's got to be done!" Matlock Styles was saying. "It should have been
done long ago."

"All right, I'll do it," grumbled another member of the band. "But
I'll be running a big risk."

"Not half the bloomin' risk I've been running," grumbled the Englishman.

"What about the word from Buffalo?" asked another.

"We'll settle that to-night--after we have settled about our prisoner."

"I've got to get back to New York."

"How soon?"

"Just as soon as possible."

"Do you want to take the letter along?"

"Yes; I gave my word I'd bring the letter."

"All right, then; we'll have to write the letter, and each man sign
it," said Matlock Styles. "But, I must say, I don't like this way of
doing things."

"No more do I," growled another of the band.

"It's putting a fellow's head under the axe," came from Number Four.

"Oh, don't get scared!" came from another. "I know Luffer--he's O.K."

"Everybody is O.K. until he gets in a tight corner and squeals,"
grumbled Number Four.

"Kicking again, eh?" roared Matlock Styles, glaring sourly at Number
Four.

"Oh, no; I'll do as the others say!" answered the big-boned young man,
but with a slight tremble in his voice. Then all of the counterfeiters
gathered around a table, to dictate and sign a certain letter some
outside party had demanded.

Adam Adams did not stop to listen to all of this conversation. He felt
that if he was to get away he must lose no time in making the attempt.
For a moment he thought to rush past the counterfeiters and try to gain
the regular entrance to the den, but then he realized the foolishness
of such an attempt. Before he got a dozen steps, they would fire at
him, and, most likely, kill him.

He closed the door gently, and, seeing a small stick of wood on the
floor, stuck this under the barrier and shoved it as tight as possible.
Then he took up the bench and braced this under the handle of the door,
so that to shove the door inwards would be all but impossible.

"Now,