“Then suppose you call it two thousand?”
“It won’t do.”
“Then I suppose I must make up my mind to remain
a prisoner.”
“Five thousand dollars wouldn’t be much
to a rich man like Pettigrew. We have inquired,
and found out that he is worth at least a hundred
thousand dollars. Five thousand is only a twentieth
part of this sum.”
“You can do as you please, but you had better
ask a reasonable amount if you expect to get it.”
“We don’t want advice. We shall manage
things in our own way.”
Convinced that further discussion would be unavailing,
Rodney relapsed into silence, but now his captors
proceeded to unfold their plans.
One of them procured a bottle of ink, some paper and
a pen, and set them on the table.
“Come up here, boy, and write to Mr. Pettigrew,”
he said in a tone of authority.
“What shall I write?”
“Tell him that you are a prisoner, and that
you will not be released unless he pays five thousand
dollars.”
“I don’t want to write that. It will
be the same as asking him to pay it for me.”
“That is what we mean him to understand.”
“I won’t write it.”
Rodney knew his danger, but he looked resolutely into
the eyes of the men who held his life in their hands.
His voice did not waver, for he was a manly and courageous
boy.
“The boy’s got grit!” said one of
the men to the other.
“Yes, but it won’t save him. Boy,
are you going to write what I told you?”
“No.”
“Are you not afraid that we will kill you?”
“You have power to do it.”
“Don’t you want to live?”
“Yes. Life is sweet to a boy of sixteen.”
“Then why don’t you write?”
“Because I think it would be taking a mean advantage
of Mr. Pettigrew.”
“You are a fool. Roderick, what shall we
do with him?”
“Tell him simply to write that he is in our
hands.”
“Well thought of. Boy, will you do that?”
“Yes.”
Rodney gave his consent for he was anxious that Mr.
Pettigrew should know what had prevented him from
coming home when he was expected.
“Very well, write! You will know what to
say.”
Rodney drew the paper to him, and wrote as follows:
On my way home I was stopped by two men who have confined
me in a cave, and won’t let me go unless a sum
of money is paid for my ransom. I don’t
know what to do. You will know better than I.
Rodney Ropes.
His chief captor took the note and read it aloud.
“That will do,” he said. “Now
he will believe us when we say that you are in our
hands.”
He signed to Rodney to rise from the table and took
his place. Drawing a pile of paper to him, he
penned the following note:
