One man was upon his back, throttling him so that he could not utter a cry. The others were trying to throw him to the ground. Farland wondered whether that single shot had been heard, whether assistance would reach him, for he knew that here was a battle he could not win by force. Finally they got him down. Something was thrust into his mouth and bandaged there, effectually gagging him. He was turned over on his face, and his wrists were lashed behind him. Then his ankles were fastened, and two of the men, at the whispered instruction of the third, picked him up like a sack of meal and carried him into the deep shadows. They did not stop there, but continued toward the river, holding a conversation in whispers at times, and stopping now and then for a moment to rest and listen. Farland had been quiet, gathering his strength, and suddenly he began to struggle. It was nothing worse than annoyance for his opponents. He was unable to make an outcry that would attract attention, and he was unable to put up an effective fight. They threw him upon the ground again and held him there. "Another little trick like that, and we'll give you something to keep you quiet," one of the men whispered into his ear. "We've got you, and you'd better let it go at that!" Once more they picked him up and went toward the river. They reached it, and one of the men hurried away while the other two guarded Farland. Five minutes passed, and then a powerful motor boat slipped toward the shore. An instant later Farland was aboard it, a prisoner, and the boat was rushing through the great river toward the north. Farland made an attempt to watch the lights along the shore, but one of the men threw a sack over his face, so that he could not see. And so he merely listened to the beating of the boat's engine, and tried to estimate with what speed they were running and how much mileage the craft was covering. The sack was heavy, and Jim Farland felt himself half smothered, the perspiration pouring from his face and neck. He had grown angry for a moment, angry at himself for walking into the trap even while suspecting that one might exist, angry at these three men who had captured him so close to Riverside Drive. Then his rage passed. He was experienced enough to know that an angry man is at a disadvantage in a game of wits, and that wits and nothing else could get him out of the present predicament. Finally, he felt the boat turning, the speed was cut off, and it drifted against something. Farland was lifted out of the motor boat, but one of the men held the sack over his head, and he was unable to see. Once more he was carried, this time away from the river, and he could tell nothing except that the men who carried him were struggling up a sharp slope.