"No!" cried Ralph, very red in the face. "I am a free agent!"
"Then I got to tie your eyes," she said.
"I won't submit to it!" cried Ralph hotly.
She shrugged and turned away. She gave an order to the sulky Charley,
and between them they unloaded the dugout. Though it was scarcely four
in the afternoon, the three little tents were set up in a row on top of
the bank, and every preparation made for spending the night.
The mosquitoes soon drove them in, each under his own shelter, where
they lay for the rest of the afternoon, sleeping, sulking, or sorrowing
as the case was. They issued out for a hasty, silent supper and turned
in again. There was a gorgeous, troubled sunset above the pines across
the river, and afterward the evening star came out like a lighthouse in
a canary sea with dark blue islands. The hard, swift face of the river
mellowed in the fading light, and gleamed with the soft lustre of old,
blue stained glass. None of those in the little tents gave any heed.
In the middle of the night Ralph was rudely awakened by the descent of
two heavy knees between his shoulders. While he still struggled with
the mists of sleep, his wrists were secured behind him. He put up the
best fight he could, but his ankles were soon tied, too. Then it was
easy to bandage his eyes.
Harder to bear than the indignity of bondage was the pain of betrayal
that stabbed him.
"Is this your friendship?" he cried.
There was no answer out of the dark.