The prisoner knew that the outlaws were sitting before the fire in the outer room, probably jesting and smoking, but they might have been far away for all evidences of their presence he heard.
With individual noises thus shut away by the noise of the downpour, the boy felt himself isolated and alone.

For the first time since his capture, his courage was wavering, not so much because of the peril of the moment, but because of the general hopelessness of the situation.
Only a few days before he had been a trusted and respected member of the Cameron family, one of the wealthiest and most exclusive in New York.

Now, discredited and in danger from the threatened exercise of a law he had not violated, he was presumably a prisoner on his way back to the Tombs.

And yet, was he really on his way there?
That was a question fully as puzzling as any other feature of the case.
It seemed a short time since he, with other members of the Black Bear Patrol, had visited in their luxurious club-house, planning a trip to Mexico.

He had reached Mexico, all right, he thought, bitterly, but under what adverse circumstances.