He thought he might get them into conversation and find out why he was imprisoned, but one of them shook his head and said coldly, "No talk. Not friends." As they opened the door, Bud spat at them, "_Mahkh mokst, hum opoots!_" One Indian started to lift his gun, but the other spoke gutturally and shoved him outside. They barred the door quickly behind them. "Well," observed Bud sadly, "tellin' that pair of skunks to get out quick didn't get me anythin' that yuh could see with yore naked eye. As far as knowin' anythin', I'm right where I left off." He examined the kettle of stew, but his stomach rebelled. The kettle was none too clean, and its contents far from appetizing. Bud was still nauseated from the blow on his head, and he wanted a drink of water. "Skunks they were," he reflected, "but I should have kept the information away from them long enough to beg a drink of water. Now, why am I a prisoner?" But there was no lead for him to work on. He had always been friendly to the Indians. Why had Monk Magee given him the doped whisky, and why did Marie Beaudet figure in his troubles, he wondered. A search of his pockets showed that his captors had overlooked his knife and several matches. The cabin was chinked from the outside with strips of wood, but he was able to work the large blade of the knife between the strips. It was a slow process, but after a time he was able to gouge out a place large enough to enable him to peer into the adjoining room. It was empty, as far as he could see, and was without a window. He attacked the opposite side of the room, but was unable to work his knife blade between the strips. In a spot above the doors there appeared to be two logs which had never been chinked. The light space was fairly large and Bud considered the possibilities of getting up there for a look outside. The logs offered little surface for climbing, but after much labor and several ineffectual attempts he managed to hang up there long enough to peer out between the logs. In front of the cabin was a fairly heavy growth of brush and trees, some of which had been cut away. The rain was beginning to fall again--another dreary drizzle--which presaged a wet night. Bud dropped back and fell to a sitting position on the floor. He was still a little weak and very thirsty, but grinned with satisfaction, as he began slicing splinters off the exposed chinking of the cabin. It was slow work, but Bud was not in a hurry, and by the time that the light failed he had collected a goodly supply of the pitch kindling, which he piled against the door. He sat down and rested a while, waiting until it was very dark. The rain was coming down heavier now and the interior of the cabin was growing colder. [Illustration] Then came a scraping noise in the next room. Bud managed to find the peep-hole in the wall, which he had made with his knife. There was a candle burning in the room, beside what appeared to be a hole in the floor.