Dick Dare was unable to break the hold of the man who had seized him. He struggled fiercely, but as the man was a giant in size, and very strong, he was thrown upon the ground and was utterly helpless. The man held the youth without seemingly having to exert himself very greatly. “Who are you?” pantingly asked Dick. “And why have you seized me?” “My name is Gabe Gurley,” was the reply. “I’m a loyalist, an’ as I know ye have been runnin’ frum ther Injuns, what are helpin’ the British, ye must be a rebel, an’ so I’ve grabbed ye, an’ll hold ye till I fin’ out about ye.” “You had better let me go,” said Dick sternly. “You have no right to hold me.” “Wal, I’m goin’ to hold ye ennyhow. I’ll jest bind yer arms, an’ then ye’ll come with me to my cabin.” The fellow then bound Dick’s wrists together, with a piece of rope that he produced from a pocket, after which he allowed him to rise, then he took hold of his arm and conducted him through the woods a distance of nearly a mile, when they reached a rude cabin that stood in the depths of a thick growth of bushes and timber. The fellow lighted a candle, and then Dick saw that his captor was a ruffian in appearance, a huge giant of a fellow, who looked capable of murder, if he took a notion. “He’s a regular desperado,” thought Dick. The ruffian turned and surveyed his prisoner. “Humph,” he grunted presently. “Ye’re a youngster. Who are ye, ennyhow?” Dick decided that it would be best to give a fictitious name, so he said that his name was Dick Fenton, and that he lived about one hundred miles to the northward and was on his way to visit relatives who lived about fifty or seventy-five miles farther south. “You have made a mistake in making a prisoner of me,” he said. “I was running from the Indians, awhile before you stopped me, true, but anybody would run from a gang of Indians on the warpath.” “Yas, thet’s so,” was the reply. “But I guess I’ll hold ye a while, ennyhow, till I fin’ out whether ye are tellin’ the truth or not.” “How long will that be?” asked Dick, with a sinking of the heart, for he did not like the idea of being delayed from reaching General Greene with the news that the patriot settlers were needing his help. “I don’ know. Ye’ll stay here till I tell ye ye may go, ennyhow, so ye might as well make up your mind to thet.” “I don’t see any sense in such a proceeding on your part,” said Dick. “Uv course ye don’,” with a grin. “I wouldn’t expect ye to. But I do, and here ye stay. In the mornin’ I’ll take a stroll an’ see if I can find out anythin’ about ye, an’ then we’ll see about lettin’ ye go.” He put a bar across the door, and then, pointing to a bunk in one corner of the room said: “You can sleep there. I’ll lay on a blanket on the floor.” Dick knew it would do no good to argue with the ruffian, so he got into the bunk, and lay down, after which Gurley blew out the light and lay down on a blanket, and was soon snoring.