For a moment Tom’s senses seemed to leave him. He could see nothing, but he felt that he was being mauled. He had a momentary fear that it might be a bear. But, he reflected, bears do not throw sacks over one’s head, nor gag one. It must be men--but what men? Vainly Tom struggled. He felt his hands being tied--his feet entangled in ropes. He fought, but was overpowered. Then he heard a voice saying: “Well, we’ve captured him, anyhow.” “Yes,” agreed another voice, and Tom vainly wondered where he had heard it before. “Yes, we have him, and now the question is, what to do with him.” CHAPTER XX A PRISONER Tom was in sort of a daze for the first few moments following the unexpected and violent attack on him, an attack culminating in his being bound so that he could hardly move. Dimly, and almost uncomprehendingly, he heard voices murmuring about him--he could hear the voices of men above the howl of the gale that seemed to continue with unabated fury. Gradually Tom’s senses cleared. The haze that seemed to envelope his mind passed away and he began to realize that he must not submit dumbly to this indignity. He first strained lightly at his bonds, as if to test them. The sack was still over his head, so he could not see, and there was a horribly stuffy and suffocating feeling about it. Tom’s effort to loosen his bonds, slight as it was, had the effect of starting his blood up in a better circulation, and this helped him to think better and more quickly. “I’ve got to get out of this!” he told himself energetically. “This won’t do at all! I wonder who the scoundrels are who have caught me this way?” But Tom did not stop then to argue out that question. He wanted to devote all his time to getting himself loose. With that in view, he put forth all his strength. He was lying on his back, in a bank of snow, he judged, and he now strained his arms and legs with all his might. But he might just as well have saved his strength. Those who had tied the bonds about him knew their evil business well, and poor Tom was like a roped steer. Not only was he unable to loosen the bonds on his arms and legs, but he found the effort hurt him, and made him almost suffocate, because of the gag and the closeness of the bag over his head. Then he heard voices speaking again. “He’s coming to,” said someone--a vaguely familiar voice. “Yes, but he’ll have to come a great deal harder than that to get away,” was the answer, and someone chuckled. Tom wished he could hit that person, whoever he was. His gun had either fallen or been knocked from his hand at the first attack. “Well, what are we going to do with him?” asked the voice that had first spoken. “Wait until----” but the rest of the sentence Tom did not hear, for the wind set up a louder howling at that point, and the words were borne away with it. Then, too, Tom was at a disadvantage because of the bag over his ears.