“None of your business,” said Paul fearlessly. “If you don’t let me go, it’ll be worse for you.” “Careful with that tongue of yours. Just come along back here.” With a quick move the youth struck the man a stinging blow in the face. The ruffian uttered a howl, and put up his hand. Paul broke loose, and dashed away. “Stop him, Dick,” cried the fellow he had hit. “Shoot him down; don’t let him escape.” Paul was running for all he was worth. Dick promptly gave chase. He was a good runner, and, despite the boy’s desperate exertion, rapidly overhauled him. When he got near enough he struck at the boy with his fist, and once more Paul sprawled into the road. He was partially stunned, and, before he could recover, both men were upon him. “Let me smash him,” cried the one savagely. “He nearly broke my nose. Just let me get at him.” “Oh, what’s the use!” said the other. “We’ve no time to fool with him. Give me your handkerchief.” The man did so, and in a few minutes Paul’s hands were secured behind him, he was lifted between them, and carried back to the cave. Here he was laid down, and Dick began searching him. “We may as well take whatever you’ve got of value,” he said. “We deserve something for that blasted run you gave us.” Paul’s heart sank. His mother’s hard-earned fifty dollars would be stolen. The man soon found the book and the bills, and chuckled as he saw the money. Then, by the light of the lantern which he had relighted, he examined the book, and uttered a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be hanged, Joe,” he cried, “if here isn’t one o’ the Buildin’ and Loan books; fifty dollars along with it, too, by the great thunder! Well, youngster, we’d only get this money anyhow, so we’ll take it now. Wish we could get all that’ll be paid in to-night as easy as we get this.” He put the bills into his pocket, after which Paul was thrown into the cave. A large stone lying near was rolled against the entrance, and Paul’s capture was complete. Hour after hour passed till the boy knew it must be after midnight. Then the men prepared to leave. “I reckon you’ll be comfortable there for some time, bub,” said one, as they moved away. “You can thank your lucky stars that we didn’t kill you.” The next moment they were gone. Paul tugged at the bandage confining his wrists. “I must get away and warn Mr. Bolton,” he reflected excitedly. “They may kill him.” But the handkerchief was well tied, and he could not weaken it. “What shall I do?” he cried desperately. “I must get away.” Then an idea flashed into his mind. He rolled over, with his back against the rock, and, despite the pain, began rubbing the handkerchief against it. His hands were soon bruised and bleeding, but he kept on, until finally the linen was worn through, and dropped off. He groped his way to the entrance, and tried to move the rock. He could not budge it. He sank back again with a groan of dismay.