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Bob was not gagged. Probably his captors were certain that no matter how hard he yelled there would be no one near enough to hear. That being the case, the boy decided that it was useless to wear out his lungs. So he kept his tongue still and suffered in silence. Little Thumbling, who had noticed that the ogre's daughters had golden crowns on their heads, and who was afraid that the ogre might repent not having killed him and his brothers that evening, got up in the middle of the night, and, taking off his own nightcap, and those of his brothers, went very softly and placed them on the heads of the ogre's daughters, first taking off their golden crowns, which he put on his brothers and himself, in order that the ogre might mistake them for his daughters, and his daughters for the boys whom he wanted to kill. Not until the bucket had reached the height of the cableway was he able to take any interest in looking about him. The second or so that had elapsed since he had taken passage on the concrete conveyor had been fully occupied in putting himself in a position where he could hold on and not be in danger of being tipped over the side. Worming himself around he found he could seat himself comfortably in the hook that held the bucket and clasp his arms around the great iron ball that hung just under the many sheaved pulley. Just as the crowd was growing weary, the roar of a high powered gasoline engine drowned out the noise they were making. With the muffler cut out open and the exhaust snapping explosions like the reports of young cannon, a car dashed down the street and stopped with a jerk. Out of it hopped Big Boss Whitney..