CHAPTER VIII.
A DISCOVERY The ominous sound of doors rolling and of clanking staples and padlocks told Pee-wee all too conclusively that he was a prisoner, and he was seized with panic terror at the thought of being locked in a dungeon where he could hardly see his hand before his face.
As to where he was, he had no guess more than that he was miles and miles from home.

But along with his fright came a feeling of relief that he was no longer in company of those two scoundrels who were unwittingly responsible for his predicament.

They would probably not return before morning and he would have at least a little breathing spell in which to consider what he should do, if indeed he could do anything.
The departure of his captors gave him courage and some measure of hope.
Freedom he did not hope for, but a brief respite from peril was his.
Time, time! What the doomed crave and pray for.

That, at least was his.
He had presence of mind enough to refrain from making any sound, for the thieves might still be in the neighborhood for all he knew.

The last he had heard of them they had been talking of "handling her" and "giving her a shove" and he did not want them to come back and "handle" _him_.
So he sat on the rear seat of the big Hunkajunk car ready to withdraw beneath the robe at the first sound of approaching footsteps.